


The Curse of the Jade Monkey

by dot11



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Adaptation, Comedy, Curse of the Jade Scorpion AU, F/M, Film Noir, FitzSimmons - Freeform, Hypnosis, Mystery, Screwball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-07-15 23:02:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7242376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dot11/pseuds/dot11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1940, New York, and Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons hate each other. He's an Insurance Investigator, and she's the Efficiency Expert hired to decide whether or not his job is necessary. When both are hypnotized at an office party into unwittingly stealing jewels from their top clients, all bets are off. Will they evade suspicion from the police? Each other? But more importantly, will they ever stop bickering long enough to realize that they're actually madly in love?<br/>Based on the film “Curse of the Jade Scorpion”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That Old Black Magic

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
>   
> 
> 
>  
> 
> Companion Playlist on [8tracks](http://8tracks.com/dot11/the-curse-of-the-jade-monkey) \- a song per chapter!

  


The yellow glow of a lone street lamp filtered in through the window like a spotlight on a deserted stage, casting long, black shadows over the dusty crates. He had been in position too long. His legs had long since cramped up, feeling more like pincushions than actual limbs. Finally, he shut his eyes tight and decided to risk it. Slowly, silently, he reached down to his pocket and pulled out his watch, shifting it into the beam of light that danced with a thick cloud of dust.

He cursed. Two hours and still no one. No movement. Time was running short. If no one appeared, his hunch would be for nothing and he'd be branded an incompetent fool. Not only would he miss the event later, he would lose his chance to ask her to join him. He grimaced. It was a lost cause, he knew, but if he asked just once, then he'd be able to finally let sleeping dogs lie.

The pocket watch snapped shut, and Fitz winced at the noise. The light glinted off the timepiece’s metallic backing, flashing across the room. His eyes followed, and suddenly his breath caught in his throat. There she was. Simply waiting patiently against the wall like she'd been there all day for him.

Fitz gulped and slowly stood from his hiding place. His slacks were covered in a film of dust that puffed out and immediately settled in the stale air when he brushed them off. He glanced cautiously around the old warehouse. Still no movement. No one else was there. Had he ever been this lucky?

Stepping toward her more boldly, his eyes roving eagerly up and down her frame, he took in more detail the closer he got. She really was a work of art. Her red lips were full with desire, slightly parted, the hint of a smile dancing at the corner of her mouth. One eyebrow was raised suggestively, daring him to come closer. He nearly stumbled past another stack of crates when he realised that she was wearing nothing but a translucent sheet. The swell of her chest strained against the fabric she clutched against her, an arm raised above her head, grasping at the wall in anticipation as he got nearer. Dark, glossy hair flowed over her shoulders, accentuating the fire in her eyes. He cleared his throat, and after another glance around the room to make sure they were alone, he reached out a tentative hand, inching closer and closer, almost frightened to touch despite her inviting smile.

At the last second, he withdrew his hand, crumpled it into a fist, and shoved it into his pocket. He shut his eyes and shook his head to clear it, then checked his watch again. This was no time to romanticize the moment. He took out his gloves, ever the professional, and moved some of the boxes aside for better access. He was glad he'd parked the car close by. The painting was much bigger than he'd anticipated.

* * *

Fitz burst through the office door to a smattering of triumphant applause. A few people stopped between their desks, tucking their papers under their arms, and he held his hands up to them, a hero, giving the office a dramatic bow. There were a few chuckles, but everyone quickly carried on with what they had been doing. A tall, dark man strolled up to him.

“There's the man of the hour!" Mack clapped slowly. "Only Leo Fitz could manage turning a routine stakeout into an art ring bust. You managed to find the painting that Ward guy tried to claim as stolen in the first place. The police will have a field day!”

“Please, it was nothing. Just another day's honest work.” Fitz suppressed a grin as his friend slapped him on the back.

“Looks like you'll be able to join us for Trip's party after all then, eh, Turbo?”

“The thought crossed my mind.” Fitz stood slightly taller. A dark-haired woman had just sauntered by in a dress that would have pulled his focus if he hadn’t already been searching for her. She stopped when she saw him and blasted him with a dazzling smile. His heart did a quick tap-dance number.

“Congrats, Fitz; I heard you found the painting.” The woman gave him a friendly pat on the arm.

“Of course.” He adjusted his tie. Bolstered by his triumph, Fitz placed his hands on his hips and turned to face her. It was now or never. He'd waited long enough without saying anything, and tonight would be his moment. Mack caught his eye and shook his head, slipping smoothly away to give his friend some much needed privacy. Fitz cleared his throat and leaned forward. “Hey, so, uh, you wouldn’t want to be my date tonight, would you?”

“Oh, what's tonight?” She sounded somewhat distracted, sorting through a pile of papers in her arms. Still, he would not be deterred.

“Trip's party. We've got a reservation at 8 at the Rainbow Room for the whole office.”

“Oh right! I completely forgot.” She smiled back up at him, and just caught his face starting to colour. She wrinkled her nose, her expression softening. “Tell you what, Fitz. I'll be your date tonight only if I get these files sorted in time. Care to give me a hand?”

“Files?” He stopped dead, his smile frozen in place. “Hold on. What are-” His features darkened dramatically. “This is Simmons, yeah?”

Daisy shrugged. “Who else?”

“I thought I told her to leave my files alone,” he growled.

“Well, tell her again, because I'm stuck here until these files are put into the new system.”

“Like bloody hell you are,” Fitz snarled. He wheeled on the spot and marched down the hallway, a bulldog after a bone. He pounded on the closed office door, letting the sound of his fist reverberate down the hall, loud and clear as a calling card. Fitz was able to take a lot in stride, but even he had his limits. Simmons had gone too far. It was time for him to do something about the injustices that were piling upon his company. Take one for the team. Even if it meant dealing with _the woman_ again.

“It's open,” a deceptively cheery voice chimed from within the private office. He grunted and threw the door open, scowling. Simmons stood behind her desk sorting through papers. She glanced up. “Oh,” she said, her smile fading instantly. “It's you. What do you want now?” She turned her attention back to her desk, and it made his rage boil again.

Jemma Simmons had only been with the company for six months, and already she’d turned the whole place upside down with her ridiculous ‘progressive’ ideas. It was shortly after the boss had decided to leave the whole company to his well-groomed son that she had been hired. Fitz harbored his own suspicions as to why the beautiful Miss Simmons had risen so high in the ranks of Distant Star so fast. Even that he'd be willing to overlook, though, if only she could leave him and his well-oiled process alone. Simply put, they did not get along.

“You've got Daisy sorting my files!” he accused.

“Yes,” she said dismissively. “That can't be a shock. She _is_ our secretary. Comes with the job description, doesn't it?”

" _My_ files! You have Daisy sorting _my_ files!” He stepped further into the room. “I thought we'd cleared this up already.”

“No, Mr. Fitz,” she said with a heavy sigh. “You only thought you'd cleared that matter up. What happened in _reality_ was that you spoke, I disagreed, and you stormed off.” She finally looked up from her papers and put her hands on her hips, as though this proved her entire point. “I have a job to do here, and I intend on completing it. You're the only person that seems to have a problem with my methods.”

“But my files are-”

“-in a completely haphazard system.” She looked down at him like she was explaining simple arithmetic. “They're hardly efficient and they're mostly incomplete. They-”

“-are in a perfectly logical system, thank you very much,” he shot back. “It's just too advanced for you, is what the problem is.” He stepped toward her, placing his hands on his hips, unconsciously mirroring her. “Ask me to find anything and I'll get it for you in an instant. Go on.”

“That's not the point.” She cocked her head as if speaking to a disagreeable child. “Each employee has to be able to access _all_ files with the same level of efficiency-”

“So I'll give you my system and you make everybody else follow it,” he inched forward, throwing an exasperated hand in the air.

She glared down her nose at him. “The system I am incorporating has been vetted by the top efficiency experts on the planet. It's simply not possible that your backwards sorting methods would even come close to the quality control that I've been hired to uphold at this company.”

“What do we even need an efficiency expert here for? When the old man was in charge, everything worked just fine.”

“Well, there is a reason Distant Star has slipped from the top five insurance companies-”

“-yeah, maybe putting Junior in charge-” Fitz scoffed.

Simmons pinned him to the spot with fierce eyes. “-There's an enormous amount of waste and duplication,” she finished her statement, voice cold as ice.

“Okay,” Fitz offered grudgingly. “But not in _my_ department.”

“There's not a single department that couldn't be run more efficiently or more economically,” she countered. “I'm not even sure Distant Star wouldn't be better off _not_ carrying an investigative division and just outsourcing each case privately.”

Fitz felt his jaw all but drop to the floor. Smirking, Simmons brought a pile of papers over to the filing cabinet and opened the drawers with an expression that was far too pleased with herself. Fitz brought his hands up defensively as he searched for an alternate tactic, fumbling to recover. “Hold on. Hold on. I think we've got off on the wrong foot here,” he said, wheeling around after her. “Why don't we start again?” He offered a hand to her, willing the tension to roll off his back. “I'm Leo Fitz, insurance investigator. Fantastic at his job. All-around great person.” He spoke evenly and presented what he hoped was his most charming smile. “Now you tell me about yourself. You know: your hopes, your dreams.”

She raised an eyebrow to his outstretched hand like it was a hunk of stale meat. “I'm not sure what you're trying to-”

He rolled his eyes, rapidly losing patience. “Are you married? Single? House full of angry cats?”

“Mr. Fitz, now you're just wasting my time.” She pursed her lips, slammed the drawer, and turned on her heel, away from his increasingly heated expression. “Mr. Daniels hired me to streamline the office, and I'm going to. Simple as that.” She picked up another pile of papers and carried them to a shelf on the other side of the room.

“And I don't think you know what you're talking about,” he said through gritted teeth, following close behind. “I think you came in here like a steamroller with something to prove, and -”

“And you've felt threatened by me since the first day I got this job six months ago,” she spat back, spinning to face him and lifting her chin defiantly, her face inches from his own. “Not only was I an efficiency expert and a challenge to your precious routine, but I'm _smarter_ than you. I'm _faster_ . I can see right through you. You're _right_ to feel threatened by me.”

" _I_ am threatened by _you_?” He lurched closer, scowling, his heart hammering like a war drum.

“Oh yes.” She grinned coldly. “You're threatened by any woman who doesn't have a double-digit IQ.”

Fitz opened his mouth to protest with a scathing string of cutting remarks - he was ready to unleash the full extent of his opinion of her - but of course, instead, the door to her office creaked open, loudly cutting him off before he could begin.

“You two know there's an awful lot of shouting going on. What seems to be the problem here?”

“Oh, Mr. Daniels,” Simmons breathed and took a calming step back, brushing the hair out of her face. “Very sorry, sir; we were just discussing the new filing system.” To her credit, Simmons looked embarrassed to be caught in another one of their confrontations. Fitz and Simmons were beginning to get a reputation.

“Ah, yes. We are very fortunate to have Miss Simmons to help with the transition since my father left me the company.” Mr. Daniels whistled casually, meandering into the room. “I'm sure she'll have this place running like clockwork in no time at all!”

“Like rusty clockwork,” Fitz muttered under his breath. Simmons shot him a look that would freeze a lesser man to ice where he stood.

“Oh, Mr. Daniels, I'll have that report for you first thing in the morning.” Simmons smiled and moved back over to her desk, closer to Mr. Daniels. She shot a pointed look at Fitz, then the door.

“That's fine.” Daniels stepped further into the room. Fitz crossed his arms and stood his ground. “Miss Simmons, are you coming with us to celebrate Antoine Triplett's birthday tonight?”

“No, I doubt it.” She tittered too sweetly, lifting yet another pile of papers. “I'm up to my neck in work.”

“Oh, why don't you come? It'll be fun. Trip is a great guy.” Daniels rapped his knuckles lightly on the desktop, lingering just long enough.

Fitz looked between them from across the room, mouth hanging open in thinly-veiled disgust. He cleared his throat and their heads swiveled towards him in unison. “Simmons, tell me when my files are back. Unless you're _too busy_.” He smirked, then stormed out of her office.

“Careful when you leave,” Simmons called after him. “Don't let the door hit you on the back on the way out and fracture your pelvis!” He waved a hand over his shoulder angrily, careful to present a certain finger in her direction as the door swung shut behind him.

“Well.” Simmons huffed, slamming the pile of paper back onto her desk. “Most of the personnel here are very nice, anyways. The only one that gives me any real trouble is Fitz.”

“Leo? He's cracked a lot of cases,” Mr. Daniels noted. At the look of pure contempt on her face, he tried again. “Of course, I don't see how. He's such a drone. He gets his tips from street contacts like ex-cons and beggars.”

“There's something about him I don't trust,” she said, flipping absently through loose sheets of paper.

“Any examples?” Daniels stepped closer, putting a hand on the stack she was collecting.

“Many!” She threw her arms in the air and began to pace. “He's _smarmy_ with those double-meaning wisecracks and immature office pranks. Who does he think he is? I mean, he's this arrogant, high-tempered man who's probably more _lucky_ than good!”

“Sometimes it's better to be lucky,” Daniels murmured, managing to wrap a hand around her waist to stop her from pacing past him again. “I think you're being too rough on him. It's more that he's just insecure than anything else.”

“Well _that's_ a surprise.” She rolled her eyes, then smiled bashfully, finally realizing how close Daniels was.

He grabbed her hand, holding it tenderly. “Come tonight,” he insisted. “It'll give us a chance to be together.”

“Oh, darling. I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that yet.” Jemma bit her lip as he placed gentle kisses on her fingertips. “Everyone will be around. What if we slip up? They have to see me as a professional, not some skirt the boss chases.”

“Then we'll be discreet,” he said, sliding his lips further up her wrist. “Come tonight so we can-”

“So we can what?” She cupped his face in her hands, pulling it up to meet her gaze. “So we can eye each other and steal touches and play games in code?”

“Yes! That's part of the romance,” he said with such a suave grin that it made her chuckle. He pulled her in tightly, wrapping her in his arms. “You know, someday we'll be able to look back and remember the time that whenever one of us brought up Paris, it meant at that particular moment we were dying to make love with one another.”

“You're such an adolescent.” She placed a hand on his chest and smiled fondly up at him.

“But a cute adolescent?” He leaned down and finally captured her lips as his prize.

When he slipped discretely out of her office, she was careful to count to a full hundred before making any movement. “Daisy?” She poked her head out of the doorway. “You're free to leave at any time. I think I'll actually be joining you tonight, after all.”

* * *

The jazz was flowing and the drinks were steady. The office of Distant Star had one big table together off the centre of the Rainbow Room. Most of the staff were there, calling for more seats than they had originally booked. A waiter balanced a towering cake through the rowdy throng, wary not to alight any stray hats or coats with the big sparkler that teetered precariously on the top layer.

“Here's to Trip!” someone at the table cheered as the waiter placed the cake gingerly at the table, breathing a sigh of relief. “Insurance man, lover, amateur magician!” Everyone clapped as the man of the hour grinned widely and blew out the candles in one go. The waiter placed the serving knife on the table and made a quick escape to a less chaotic corner of the club.

“Trip, please, no card-tricks tonight, huh?” Mack laughed.

“Alright, alright. I'll leave those to the actual magician.” Trip tucked his pack of playing cards deeper into his jacket pocket with a charming smile. “I’m excited to see this guy in person. I’ve only heard good things. Might pick his ear later if there’s time.” No one at the table had as great an affinity for magic as Trip. He was enamored by the tricks and trinkets employed in the magic act, and was grateful they had picked this spot for his party. “Now, while I have everyone's attention, I'd also like to make a toast to Fitz.” Trip raised his glass, and everyone at the table followed suit. “Thanks to our man, the police have the stolen painting in their possession, and Distant Star beats yet another fraud insurance claim.” Trip directed his speech towards the end of the table where Simmons sat, picking absently at her coaster with one finger. Fitz waved off the praise with a big grin and placed an arm around the back of Daisy's chair.

“Tell us,” Daisy said, leaning in, “what gave you the idea to check out the warehouse?”

Fitz shifted to the edge of his chair, happy to indulge his captivated audience. “See, what I do is I like to put myself in the criminal's position,” he explained. “I try and _anticipate_ . What would he do next, what would his next move be? I _think_ like him.” Fitz slapped the table to make his point, then leaned back in his chair with a big grin. “You know, I'd hate to have _me_ after me!” He chuckled along with the rest of the staff, basking in the attention. Simmons rolled her eyes, and her gaze landed across the table on Daniels. He took a sip of his drink and smiled secretively back at her.

“What are you thinking, Mr. Daniels?” the man to his left asked. “You look lost in reverie.”

“Ah, sorry.” He sat up. “I was just thinking about a column I read in the paper.” He swirled the ice in his glass, letting it clink against the sides. “About all these Germans occupying Paris.” His eyes slid over to her again, and Simmons straightened, still playing with the coaster.

“Fitz, you ever been to Paris?” Mack asked.

“No, and I don't intend to…” Fitz scowled, noticing the silent exchange between Simmons and Daniels.

It was at this point in the evening that the lights dimmed dramatically and the music swelled with a triumphant flare. A single spotlight flew to the centre of the room, a make-shift stage. The conductor's voice boomed through the microphone. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, it's time to present our main event for the evening… Please welcome to the stage, The Great Clairvoyant!”

The audience took their cue to applaud as a tall man with heavy eye makeup and a bejeweled turban appeared beneath the spotlight. He waved and bowed, a showman through and through.

“For my first act,” the Clairvoyant spoke in a deep theatrical voice, “I will be demonstrating something called _The Power of the Jade Monkey._ ” The audience gave polite gasps of awe as a burst of smoke erupted next to the man for effect. “For this act, I will need two victims -”He covered his mouth cheekily. “- Sorry, _volunteers_ from the audience.” He stepped towards Distant Star's table and looked over the staff one by one. Finally, like a panther identifying his prey, he stopped behind one chair.

“Sweetheart?” He offered a bejeweled hand to Simmons. When she realized he was speaking to her, she dropped her coaster into her bag and blushed deeply. At everyone's insistence, she stood and went with him, unable to see another way out of it.

Daisy nudged Fitz in the ribs and whispered, “You should go up there!” He looked around with a grin.

“Oh, go on Fitz!” Trip clapped, waving to the magician. “We've got another one over here! Go on! Represent us well, Fitz!”

Fitz stood and straightened his tie before following the Clairvoyant and Simmons to the spotlight. It felt much hotter up under the lights than he had expected. The entire club watched on. He almost immediately regretted his decision to go up.

Placing them side by side, the magician faced the room at large, then pulled a sparkling green trinket from his pocket. The music hushed ominously as the Great Clairvoyant began to weave his tale. “Many years ago, an emperor in China received as a gift this precious pendant,” he explained dramatically to the audience. “A Jade Monkey.” He held the sparkly pendant aloft for all to see. It was small, but a brilliant green gem sat in the monkey’s belly, with glints of gold adorning its hands and tail. “It was said to possess extraordinary power. Power to darken the minds of men...”

Fitz squinted under the heavy lights, feeling how a frog must when it’s about to be dissected in a lab. That last whiskey had probably been a mistake. He loosened his tie to combat the heat, and tried to tap the Clairvoyant on the shoulder. It took a few tries, as the tall man was setting the scene rather animatedly. Finally, he caught his attention. “I think I can't get hypnotized, actually,” Fitz stage-whispered, attempting to inch out of the spotlight. “I'm not a very good subject.” He caught the look that Simmons shot him, though, threatening him to stay where he was and not leave her alone up there, for goodness’ sake. Chuckles rippled through the audience as the Clairvoyant turned his charming smile upon the pair. Fitz shut his mouth and stood his ground obediently.

“Let me assure you all that nothing can occur under hypnosis that a subject would not do in reality. Now,” The magician held the pendant in front of Fitz first. “Eyes only on the Monkey please. Ears open only to the sound of my voice. Please, sir, _sir_ , look at the Monkey.” Fitz rolled his eyes and looked pointedly at the bauble, resigned to play along. It was nothing special. A rather ugly monkey made entirely of particularly shiny costume jewelry. Probably a knock-off. Not real. Not worth much. “The surrender of the mind… The  surrender   of     the     mind...”

After mere seconds, Fitz slumped forward, eyes distant and sleepy. The magician gave a knowing smile to the audience and moved over to Simmons. “They resist. And resist. But the Monkey _likes_ resistance.” The jade pendant swayed back and forth in front of her eyes. Simmons took a moment longer, but the same dazed look soon overcame her. The Clairvoyant gestured happily to the two, swaying as they stood half asleep, shoulder to shoulder. He moved back over to Fitz.

“What is your name, sir?”

“Leopold Fitz,” he said in a slow, monotone voice. “But no one knows my full name. It's embarrassing. People call me Fitz.” The crowd chuckled with glee.

“And what do you do, Mr. Fitz?”

“I'm an insurance investigator for Distant Star Casualty and Fidelity of New York,” he said sleepily.

“Very good.” The magician nodded, then turned to Simmons. “And what is your name, Miss?”

“Jemma Simmons. I also work for Distant Star.” She spoke just as slowly and monotonously.

“So you work together?” the Clairvoyant asked, clearly pleased.

“I can't _stand_ her,” Fitz spat instantly. The crowd roared with laughter.

“Don't pay attention to him,” Simmons countered drearily. “He's an arrogant megalomaniac who's frightened of women.” The crowd was nearly in tears now as the two stood shoulder to shoulder, quietly swaying on the spot.

“Very interesting office dynamic here!” The Clairvoyant chuckled along with the audience. He stepped closer, dangling the Jade Monkey in front of their faces. “Now, you are at the first level of trance, but the Jade Monkey wants you to go to the deepest level.” He looked to Fitz. “When I say the word _Capuchin,_ you will instantly drop into the deepest hypnotic trance. All resistance will disappear.” He moved behind Simmons. “When I say the word _Marmoset_ , you will go immediately to the deepest level of hypnotic sleep, and you will obey all my orders.” Fitz’s head lolled to the side and Simmons’ mouth drooped open in response.

The magician motioned dramatically. “Ready now: _Capuchin_ . _Marmoset_. Mr. Leopold Fitz, and Miss Jemma Simmons. I now pronounce you man and wife!” The crowd cackled with laughter. Only Mr. Daniels looked nervous in his seat. “When I snap my fingers, you will awaken. You will not know that you are in a trance, but you will be madly in love with each other. You're on your honeymoon on a deserted island. The moon shines down its magical glow on the two of you. You're deeply, deeply in love. Ready? One, two, three- awaken to your tropical paradise.”

The magician snapped his fingers and both Fitz and Simmons instantly opened their eyes. They turned towards each other with sheepish grins, like flowers finding the sun after a long night of rain.

“What are you thinking?” Simmons asked, gazing deeply up into his sparkling eyes.

“I'm thinking,” he began, stepping toward her to hold her hands in his own, “that I'm the luckiest man in the world.”

She smiled happily down at their intertwined hands. “The lucky one is me,” she breathed.

“I was in love with you from the first moment that I saw you.” He brushed a hand over her cheek, tipping her chin up to him.

“Oh, Fitz.” She leaned into his touch. “Make love to me here under the stars, to the sound of the ocean!”

“Oh, Jemma!”

“I don't want to wait a moment longer than we have to!” she pleaded, and he pulled her into a deep, passionate embrace. Their lips pressed together and she swooned into his arms. The crowd whooped and clapped as the two passionately kissed with no idea there was anyone in the world but them.

“Stop. Enough.” The Clairvoyant spoke, and the two broke apart on command, straightening. “Unfortunately, every dream must turn to reality.” Fitz and Simmons faced the audience blankly, two planks of wood. “When I snap my fingers, you will awaken, and you will have no memory at all of this event. You will return to your regular lives as they exist, with whatever destinies await you. Let us all hope they are pleasant ones.” He winked to the audience. “Are you ready to awaken on the snap of my fingers? One... You're beginning to come up. Two… the memory is fading completely. Three… the Jade Monkey has created the miracle of love, and four-” The Clairvoyant snapped loudly. “Awaken!”

They both jolted awake. Simmons smoothed out her skirt uncomfortably, looking around. Fitz blinked.

“And how do you feel?” the Clairvoyant asked Fitz jovially.

“Still waiting for something to happen.” Fitz shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. The magician grinned and turned to Simmons.

“How do you feel, Miss?”

“I'm sorry. I guess I'm not a very good subject.” She brushed the hair out of her face, hoping to get off the stage before something embarrassing happened.

“No, me neither,” Fitz piped up. “I warned you this wouldn't work.”

“Ah, well, I tried my best!” The Clairvoyant shrugged helplessly to the roaring applause of the audience.

“Trip, back me up.” Mack laughed, bringing the plate of hot fries over to their table. Most of the office had gone their separate ways already, leaving only the four of them from Distant Star at the end of the night. The music played lazily in the background, and one or two odd couples swayed drunkenly on the floor. “Fitz, you gazed deeply into her eyes and you told her you loved her.”

“Mad!” Fitz shook his head, pocketing his coaster. “I would _never_ do such a thing! This is a conspiracy to make me appear mad!”

“I hope somebody talks to me like that someday.” Daisy wistfully eyed her empty glass of tequila.

“Speaking of which - Girl, shouldn't you be getting home to feed your dog or something?” Trip nudged Fitz with meaning.

“But I can't bear Simmons!” Fitz mournfully cradled his head with one hand, the other clutching yet another glass of Scotch. He was clearly not paying attention to what anyone else was saying.

“Uh huh.” They all stared as he began thudding his head against the table, then lifted his Scotch glass to his lips for a long draught.

“What?” He caught their looks of poorly-hidden amusement as he came up for air.

“Take this cab fare on me.” Trip winked at Daisy. “I think it might be the better option tonight.”

* * *

“Good night, Will.” Simmons folded her hands in her lap, having removed her seatbelt as he parked in front of her building.

“Good night, baby.” He leaned over to go in for the kiss that would finally start the evening he'd been waiting far longer for than he normally would. One look from her, though, and he gripped the steering wheel instead, to suppress his frustration. He decided to shake it off and see if she was just playing hard to get. “I knew we'd get a little time alone tonight if you came along,” he said, keeping his eyes soft.

“I'm glad I came.” She smiled sweetly.

“And it wasn't obvious that we’re together. You had no reason to be worried. No one suspected a thing.” She didn't miss the slight frown that flashed across his face as he said this.

“Like I said, I'm glad I came.” She paused for a moment to show her sincerity, then reached for the door handle.

“You don't need any help getting upstairs, do you?” he tried again, moving into her space . “I can-”

“-no, that's okay,” she said quickly. “We have an early day tomorrow and I think I'm getting a cold. I just want to go home, have a tea and get some rest.”

“You know, if you're getting a cold, someone should rub your chest down with Vicks.” He grinned slyly.

She laughed. “Does that work with all the ladies?”

“I don't know. You tell me.” He pouted, shifting closer once again.

Jemma rolled her eyes up to the roof of the car with a grin then planted a sound kiss on his mouth. He leaned closer, reaching out to draw her in. She pulled back, opening the car door as she did and sliding out smoothly.

“Hmm… If anyone's going to be rubbing my chest down with Vicks, he better bring a ring.” She smirked coyly, and closed the door behind her.

“Oh, baby!” Will panted. “You tease too well!”

“Who's teasing? Good night, Will.” She waved fondly as he stared after her. He then started the car with a growl and drove off down the dark street in a cloud of smoke.

Simmons dropped her hand to her chin and touched her lips absently. Realizing she was still smiling, she mentally shook herself and reached into her bag for her keys.

* * *

Fitz entered his apartment, still in a huff, and threw his jacket onto the patchy armchair. He glanced over at the liquor cabinet and briefly considered having another night-cap. Alone. He paced into the bedroom. After a beat, he stepped right back out to stare down the cabinet again. The telephone rang.

He grumbled noisily as he undid his tie and strode into the foyer where the phone was. Who could possibly be calling at this ungodly hour?

“Hello?” he barked into the receiver.

_“Capuchin.”_

Fitz' eyelids immediately grew heavy and he swayed on the spot. The voice on the other line was so soothing and pleasant.

_“You are in a deep trance. You will obey my instructions carefully. You will proceed to the Johnson estate and obtain all of the jewels from their safe. You will do this with the utmost secrecy, using all the information and techniques at your command. Then you will return to your apartment with the jewels. You will hide them in a safe and secure place, awaiting further instructions. You will then fall into a deep slumber from which you will awaken refreshed. You will have no memory of anything that has occurred during the trance. Is that clear to you?”_

“Very clear.”

_“Then go now. The Jade Monkey commands it.”_


	2. Naughty Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
>   

The telephone blared and Fitz woke with a start. He had a keen sense of deja-vu, or that he was waking from a too-real dream. Rubbing his eyes, he waited for the residual sleepiness to ebb through his bones and pull him back under the covers so he could ignore the blasted contraption that was interrupting his habitual grogginess. It didn't come. He felt oddly refreshed. Instead, the phone rang again.

Fitz rolled out of bed, resigned, and looked down at what he was wearing. Apparently he'd opted to sleep in his trench coat last night. Odd. The phone rang again, more urgently, and he sprinted to the foyer.

"What?" he grumped into the receiver.

"The Johnson safe was broken into last night," Mack said on the other line. "Someone got on the estate. Jewels worth millions, all gone. The cops don't have a clue, and Daniels is in shock."

"But that makes no sense!" Fitz paced, carrying the telephone with him. "I made that place burglar-proof myself!"

"Well, tell that to the burglar," Mack said dryly. "We're on the hook for big money here, so you better get over there damn fast to see what's going on. By now, those stones could be on the market half-way across the globe."

* * *

"Everything! Everything was taken," the tall elegant woman sobbed into her handkerchief as Fitz approached. Probably Mrs. Johnson, by the expensive look of her morning frock. She was speaking to Inspector Coulson. Of course the police had arrived first. They were busy interviewing the household. "My emerald tiara and my sapphire necklace from China. Taken! They're irreplaceable!"

"That sapphire is the most perfect in the world, you know," insisted the man who had to be her husband. Mr. Johnson stared down Inspector Coulson like it was personally his fault. Coulson nodded, tired, and continued to write in his notepad.

A no-nonsense woman clad in a police uniform stepped out onto the patio to join them. She glanced briefly at Fitz in acknowledgement, then turned gravely to Coulson. "No fingerprints, but we got a partial shoe print."

"Thanks, May. Man or woman?"

"Can't be sure."

Fitz stepped forward, shaking the inspector's hand. "Coulson. Good to see you again."

"If only it were under better circumstances," the older man said kindly, grateful for the excuse to turn away from the Johnsons. "Your company is on the line big time for this one."

"You don't have to tell me." Fitz shook his head. "This crook must be a pro. I designed the whole system here myself. It's fool proof!"

"Maybe that's the problem." Coulson winked. "You needed to make it genius proof."

"We'll see." Fitz brushed his hands together. Coulson was a decent man, but he sometimes favored the office word-play a little too much. "Very few people had the schematics to the security here." Fitz looked around. He had a bad feeling about this, though he couldn't quite put his finger on why. He turned and spoke loudly to the group that had gathered. "I want to interview everybody that works here. The butlers, the gardeners - the whole staff!" A general grumbling dissipated throughout the group. Fitz narrowed his eyes in order to look menacing, and spoke over his shoulder to Coulson, not bothering to keep his voice down. "Something funny's going on here; I just feel it."

The inspector looked around, shrugged, then pulled the younger man off to the side. "This time I think your gut reaction is betraying you, Fitz," he said quietly. "Nobody in this house is involved. I bet my life on it."

Fitz brushed the inspector off and walked right up to the Johnsons, undeterred. "Can I take a look upstairs?"

"If you must," the missus simpered dramatically. "But would you make it fast? We've had far too much excitement for one day."

* * *

Fitz surveyed the closet in front of him. Nothing appeared to be overtly suspicious. He picked up a high-heeled shoe and brought it close to his face to examine.

"What are you doing in my Auntie's closet?" A bored, sultry voice danced into his ears from behind.

Fitz spun around. A woman stood in the doorway. Her dark curls flowed to the nape of her neck where the top of her flowered robe rested lazily against her shoulders. She raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow at him and lifted a hand against the door frame.

"Oh. Hello." Fitz dropped the shoe.

"Don't tell me you're one of those grubby little private detectives," she drawled, strolling casually into the room, a lioness on the hunt. She spun around and took out a cigarette, allowing him to feast his eyes on her. "A private eye, a shamus, a gumshoe. Take your pick; they're all the same."

"Oh I'm- I'm a grubby little _insurance investigator._ " Fitz stared, placing his hands on his hips to appear unaffected.

The woman pressed her red lips together, one corner of her mouth quirking up slightly. "So what? You always get your kicks fondling women's clothes?" She considered him, taking a long drag on her cigarette.

"You-You're Raina Johnson, right?"

She sighed, disinterested, and shook her head so that her curls bounced prettily. "Yeah, that's right." She sauntered over to a lounger in the corner of the room and draped herself across it. "And I have a strawberry mark on my thigh to prove it, gumshoe." She lifted a leg and let the silky fabric of her robe slide away to reveal the smooth skin of her naked knee. "Would you like to see it?"

Fitz coughed. "Ah, maybe later. When there's not a house full of people," he said, staring at her knee.

"Hmm." She purred and cocked her head, a cat playing with its prize. "My fiancé might not appreciate that."

Fitz blinked and crossed his arms, looking her dead in the eye. "Oh yes? Which one?"

Raina pouted and slowly tucked her legs beneath her. "So you do follow my life."

"Well, I read the tabloids, if that's what you mean."

"You've seen photos of me diving into public fountains..."

"And getting arrested for speeding. And throwing champagne at El Morocco-"

"And while I'm out living the fast life, you're hard at work snooping in people's closets." She giggled, then leaned back, taking a drag on her cigarette.

"Can I help it if they pay me by the clue?"

"Did the burglar leave any?" She raised a perfect eyebrow.

"Well, no. He didn't leave any," Fitz admitted. "But that's because he's still among us."

"Says who?"

"Says a very long and complicated theory that I will prove once I gather enough evidence."

Raina tapped her cigarette ash onto the floor. "So you're Leo Fitz." He felt her eyes wander about him, not missing a thing despite the disinterested air she was wearing. "I hear you're a very sharp investigator with an impressive record. I looked forward to meeting you properly." She toyed with one of her curls.

"They say I always get my man." He met her intense gaze, not sure whether he should be suspicious or flattered.

"Me too." She pressed her lips together.

"Right." He stared for a moment, then clapped his hands to break the tension. "I'm glad we could have this little chat, but-"

"Where shall we go tonight?" She pounced suddenly, moving smoothly against him. "Chinatown or Harlem? You prefer Jazz or Opium?"

"I, uh, I prefer the sofa in front of my fireplace."

"Oh, directly to your apartment?" She pulled at the lapels of his jacket. "You always begin with dessert?" Raina lifted her face to him, closing her eyes dreamily, her full red lips inches from his.

"I-it depends..."

She pulled away at the last second, inhaling deeply, eyes dancing from his hat to his toes then back up to meet his gaze. "This will be a very interesting experiment for me." She grinned. "I usually prefer more attractive, athletic, muscular men."

"What about your fiancé?"

"If you don't invite him, I won't." She winked and released him from her clutches. Fitz staggered back.

With a lingering backwards glance, Raina sauntered out of the room. Fitz remained, not entirely sure what had just happened.

* * *

Fitz barreled through the office and threw open his boss' door. "Mr. Daniels, it's an inside job. No question about it!" He stopped short when he was greeted with the back of a silky brown head of hair that could only belong to _the woman_. "Oh. You." He sneered like a bad smell was caught beneath his nose.

Simmons turned and stood quickly, smoothing her skirt down. "Anything on the Johnson situation?" Fitz narrowed his eyes at her, then at Daniels, but decided to press on without comment.

"It's an inside job. I bet my life on it," he explained to his boss, who merely sat there, gaping at the sudden intrusion.

"That's not what the police are saying," Simmons tutted, clearly possessing a faster recovery time than the man at the desk.

"Well, they're wrong. It's inside. I can tell." Fitz felt his blood start to boil. He clenched his fists. "Listen, Daniels, can we talk without the warden being here?" He nodded his head to the side, in _her_ direction _._

"Please, Miss Simmons is part of this company, too." Mr. Daniels leaned back in his chair. "We must all learn to work together in harmony."

"What makes you so positive it's an inside job?" Simmons tilted her head to Fitz accusingly.

"It couldn't be that smooth unless it was inside." He chose to direct his response to Daniels, doing his best to ignore her presence.

The other man nodded, considering. He leaned forward with his elbows on his desk, hands together, tapping his knuckles against his chin. He spoke carefully, like he knew he was about to get a rise out of Fitz. "Miss Simmons is suggesting, given the magnitude of the loss, that we expand our investigation..."

"...Meaning what?" Fitz clenched his jaw, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Meaning that while I appreciate the value of intuition to a point," Simmons stepped in, "we're moving to a decade of scientific innovation and-"

Daniels held up a hand to stop her. She folded her arms over her chest, biting back her irritation, and waited for him to continue. "Miss Simmons has suggested that perhaps we might get you a little help... by farming out part of the work to an outside private detective agency."

Fitz blinked and looked from Simmons to Daniels. "You can't be serious!"

"This is to help you." Daniels stood, holding his hands up as though he were a lion tamer. "To test the waters - see if a new approach and fresh techniques make a difference."

Fitz dragged a hand down his face. "This is your grand cost-saving solution?" He turned on Simmons.

"Don't feel threatened immediately," her eyebrow shot up.

"Oh, no. According to you, I'm only threatened by women with high IQs. Are you suddenly a lady detective too then?"

Simmons threw her hands in the air, fed up. "Distant Star has got to get with the progress of the marketplace. We must take steps forward or get left behind-"

"You have _no clue_ what sort of steps I take in order to-"

Daniels moved out from behind his desk and situated himself between them. "There's a lot of money at stake here, Fitz. The more time passes, the colder the trail grows. You know that." Fitz sneered, but nodded his head slightly, conceding this fact. "So, if the Koenig-Morse Private Detective Agency makes a contribution, then fine. If not, we're only out a few bucks."

"The _Koenigs_?" Fitz gaped. "Those guys? But they're ridiculous! She can't honestly be considering _them_."

"You know, you're the only person I've received this kind of bitter resistance from," Simmons huffed. "And if I may speak frankly, you're a _child_ with your streetways and disorganized hunt-and-peck methods."

"Oh, a child, is it?" Fitz stepped towards her, puffing out his chest.

"Please!" Daniels moved between them again. "My father always stressed _harmony_."

"I gotta go anyway." Fitz put his hat firmly back on his head, glaring at _the woman_. "I'm working a case."

"Watch out for traffic!" Simmons called brightly after him. "Don't get hit by a bus, your body mangled beyond all recognition!"

Fitz slammed the office door behind him.

* * *

It was a long day after that. Long and fruitless. Every instrument Fitz had set up on the Johnson's estate appeared to have been rendered inoperable only for the timeframe of the robbery. Otherwise, they were all in perfect working condition. Whoever he was up against, he had to admit, he respected the burglar. It took a certain amount of finesse to even detect the gadgetry he'd invented and installed, much less be able to manipulate it to perform the jewel heist and leave no trace.

Was there anyone on the Johnson estate with that kind of raw talent? Doubtful. But one could never be certain. After all, he himself was being constantly underestimated when it came to his own profession and know-how. Even in school, no one quite understood him. This was what was getting him in such trouble with this Simmons woman. If he couldn't solve this case, it was likely he'd be out on his ass looking for a new job again. And in this economy, that was the last thing he wanted to do.

It was time. Glaring at the last probe he'd set up that once again offered no useable data, he packed away his tool kit and got back into his car, thoroughly irritated. He'd done everything he could. It was time for the more personal style of investigation.

"I've heard nothing about no job," Hunter said, swaying on the street corner. Lance Hunter was Fitz's greatest source of information outside of his gadgetry. The man kept his eyes and ears on all walks of life, and would happily offer up what he learned – for a price. Right now, Hunter was at his day-job: begging.

They both stood on the busy street corner, just out of the flow of foot traffic. Hunter's uniform was at precisely the right level of pungent to detract from any actual attention from passers-by, but every so often, a kind stranger would drop a coin or two in his paper cup. "Nobody tried to fence nothing or do no braggin' from what I seen." He coughed, tipping his hat, unseen, to a tall, elegant woman as she passed by.

"Hunter, you gotta help me with this. Keep your ears open. Anything you hear, I have to know. It's very important, alright?" Fitz took out his wallet and handed over a wad of bills.

Hunter ripped off his cap and started counting the green. He raised an eyebrow at Fitz. "Fifty? You must be desperate."

"You know where to reach me," Fitz said as Hunter slipped his cap back on.

* * *

The sun had now set and the day had come to a long, winding end that had offered more questions to the case than answers. Fitz had one last stop. "I think they're all gone up there, Mr. Fitz."

"Great, thanks, Joey. I'm just gonna check something out. I'll be down in five minutes."

Really, all Fitz wanted was to make good on the long-standing date he had with the bottle of Scotch stowed in his bottom desk drawer. He had big plans that night to moan away his lack of progress into the relative discomfort of his dreary apartment. Fitz clomped up the stairs. As he reached for the knob of his office, a door behind him creaked open. He spun around.

"Oh! You startled me!" It was Simmons. Fitz cocked his head at the sight of her. "I-I was just working late," she explained, brushing her hair back up into its business-like coif.

"Oh. 'Cause Joey said he didn't think anybody was up here…"

"Well I'm here." She shifted and pulled the door firmly shut behind her. "Obviously I'm here."

Fitz squinted and craned his neck to peer at her door. "What are you so nervous for-?"

"-I'm not nervous." She immediately crossed her arms, flipping back to defensive on cue. "Why would I be nervous? Working up here alone, I didn't expect to see you is all."

Fitz considered her slowly, taking a secret satisfaction at seeing her so uncomfortably out of her element. She really was a terrible liar. He couldn't see a reason why he should care at this point, though. "Don't you work late all the time? That's what they tell me."

"What is this, 20 questions? You scared me. I'm working up here alone. I'm filling out some reports."

Fitz snorted, opening the door to his office and reaching in to grab his Scotch as she watched. "What are you gonna do, ask Daniels to take out all the water coolers next?" He pocketed the bottle and looked back at her.

Simmons huffed, clearly deciding she was safe from whatever interrogation she'd envisioned from him. "Why don't you make your wisecracks somewhere else? I'm busy."

"Not to worry; I'm outta here." He shook his head, brushing past her. "Don't work too late. The bags under your eyes can only hold so much weight.

She sniffed. "Have a good evening," Simmons retorted sweetly. "And if you find you're going to have a sudden coronary thrombosis, you should probably drive directly to the hospital to avoid being found alone in your apartment partially ingested by cats!"

* * *

The day's disappointments weighed heavier in his bones than usual tonight. Fitz reached the landing to his apartment with a gallant effort and a heavy groan. This was the last time he woke up early. Nevermind the emergency of this morning; his apartment would need to be on fire if he were to wake up before 9:00 ever again.

He turned the lock to his apartment and dragged his legs through the door, not even bothering to turn the lights on. He tossed his coat on the kitchen table and he unscrewed the top of his Scotch, ready for the mediocre oblivion it would soon bring.

That was when his living room lights snapped on. He blinked the spots from his eyes and stared straight at the curly-haired intruder who had planted herself in his overstuffed easy chair like it was a throne.

"H-hey. How'd you get in?"

"It wasn't very hard." She twisted the corner of her mouth up.

"Really? What'd you do, have your uncle buy the building?" Fitz tossed the bottle cap into the sink and took a swig.

"Nothing so dramatic; just a small tip to the super."

"For the infamous Raina Johnson, maybe," Fitz snorted. "I give the super a small tip, he tries to evict me."

"I brought some very expensive Russian vodka," she said, lifting a clear bottle from Lord knew where. "120 proof."

Fitz nodded, impressed if not as thrilled as she seemed to expect. "You don't want to drop that. It's liable to blow up the whole building."

"I got bored waiting." She stood, pulling her trench coat tighter and meandering over to the dusty bookshelf. "There's nothing to read here but detective stories and issues of Popular Mechanics." Fitz shrugged. What else would there be? Raina shook her head, exhilarated. "Don't misunderstand. I love where you live. It's just what I thought it would be - a grimy little rat hole."

"Oh, thank you," he scratched the back of his head. "I'll tell my decorator you said that. It's the effect we were going for."

She turned abruptly into his arms and removed the bottle of Scotch from his grasp. "So are you dying to see my strawberry mark?"

"Uh, if - if it's in the same spot it was this afternoon, you should probably get someone to check it out..." he stammered.

Raina parted her lips and reveled in the effect she was having on him. "This is truly a novelty for me." She spun away again and Fitz dropped his arms. "I'm used to penthouses and yachts, gorgeous European lovers who buy me presents and sweep me off my feet." Fitz took a heavy breath, trying to suppress his grumbling as he searched the cupboards for two clean glasses to pour their drinks into. "And yet, somehow, I find it strangely exciting, standing here in a grungy hovel with a pasty insurance clerk."

"I know there's a compliment in there. I just don't know where it is." Fitz gave the glasses a quick wipe, then placed them on the table and poured the vodka. "You gonna take that coat off or what?"

He heard the coat hit the floor as he turned to hand her a glass. "Oh! Well." All he could do was stare. Her creamy brown skin had no imperfections, from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. Fitz gulped. How he managed to hold onto the glass, he'd never know.

"What do you think?"

He opened his mouth, but couldn't put words to his thoughts. Of all times, he found himself wondering if Simmons had such a perfect body beneath her crisp business suits. Daniels couldn't be _that_ lucky of a man. He shook his head and tried again, and the sound of the telephone rang through the apartment.

Fitz frowned. "Perfect bloody timing."

Raina gracefully scooped their drinks out of his hands, and began to tiptoe down the dark hallway. "I'll slip into something a little more comfortable, and wait for you in bed."

Fitz's eyes followed her and he groaned with anticipation. "More comfortable than _that_?" He shot a dirty look at the phone as it rang again. "What are you going to put on, body lotion?"

He picked up the receiver as she disappeared around the corner. "Hello?" he snarled.

" _Capuchin_." Fitz's features immediately went slack.

* * *

When he returned to the bedroom, Raina had draped herself invitingly across his bed, twisted lazily in a single thin cotton sheet. She had arranged herself so that tempting peeks of skin were just visible here and there, tastes of what adventures would come. "Have you ever heard of an Indian book called the Kama Sutra?" she purred to him, twisting a lock of hair around her finger and licking her full lips seductively.

Fitz grinned brightly and marched over to the bed. "I'm sorry, Raina, but we are going to have to postpone our little rendezvous." He smiled politely.

"Pardon me?" The woman cocked her head.

"I just recalled a previous engagement," he explained, beaming. "I do hope you don't mind. The doorman will get you a taxi." He gestured towards the door. "I had a delightful evening. Thank you very much for your time."

"You are joking, of course." She narrowed her eyes at him, clutching the sheet to her chest.

"I'll turn around so that you can get dressed with some modesty, but please do try and hurry. I'm rather pressed for time." He continued to smile his bright, pleasant grin, turning to face the opposite wall. Raina stood, letting the sheet drop to the floor. No reaction. She rounded on him.

"Have you gone insane?"

He stepped back away from her, not blinking. "Tonight was very meaningful to me, Raina. Really." He held her coat out to her. "I'll always think of it in a very cherished way. If you're in the neighbourhood again, please drop in!"

She looked him up and down like he was a disgusting new species of insect. She'd never encountered a man who she'd had so little effect on. "What's come over you?"

Fitz folded his hands together and tipped his head pleasantly. "Should you desire any pretzels to snack on during your journey home, I have a whole dish of them in the other room."

Raina sneered, piecing together a theory. "I should have known... I should have _known!_ " She struggled to pull her coat's sleeve back on. "A mousy little clerk like you, just chasing your entire life after criminals. I should have known!"

"Now, Raina, don't be cross. Do drop in again at an alternative date! I'm sure we will have a suitably amusing time."

"Jesus! I'm going already! I'm getting out! I've never been kicked out of a man's bed before, but it could have been worse. You've got some nerve, Buster!"

"Thanking you in advance for understanding, Raina." Fitz held the door open with his pleasantly detached grin. "And might I add that you have a splendidly shaped buttocks."

"Oh, for God's sake!" She whirled around as he closed the door gently behind her.


	3. What Kind of Fool?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
>   

Fitz stared up at the expansive Stark Mansion in disbelief. “It’s just not possible,” he said to Coulson. “The robberies are identical!”

“Do you think somebody from the Johnson household came over and pulled this one too?” the inspector chuckled smugly into his notebook.

Fitz sniffed. “It’s one thing to go for the Johnson jewels. But the Starks?” He shook his head. “This guy is pushing his luck.”

“He appears to be working with a stacked deck. He’s good. Hardly a trace of evidence, no forced entry.”

“But _I_ did the security here,” Fitz repeated. He was beginning to take personal offense. “I made the place foolproof.”

Coulson nodded. “Someone's a step ahead of you.”

“I want to speak to the Starks.” Fitz ruffled. “I want to question them.”

“Good luck. The Koenigs have been grilling them all morning, and they don’t like being questioned.”

Fitz scrunched his eyes together and clenched a fist. “You don’t mean - I can't believe it.” He cursed. “She actually convinced Daniels to put the Koenigs on it.”

“Hey, far as I'm concerned, we need all the help we can get on this case.” Coulson shrugged, apparently not seeing the injustice of it all.

As if on cue, the two brothers sauntered out of the garden, looking pompous and troll-like and identical down to the over-polished shoes. “What's happening, fellas?” the one on the left said. Fitz sneered.

“Heya, Fitz. You hear we're on this case now?” The other one snapped his suspenders.

“Yeah? Well this is my case, just so you're clear on that,” Fitz said, deciding it was in his best interest to not leave any lines fuzzy. The brothers had a reputation for being a little too by-the-book.

Coulson caught Fitz’s eye then tucked his notebook in his jacket pocket, looking bemused. Clearly not interested in whatever one-up game was about to take place, he turned away to survey some other section of the estate, leaving Fitz alone with the twins.

“Will you listen to him? Like we horned in,” Tweedle-dee nudged his brother.

“Hey, they called us,” said Tweedle-dum.

“That was their first mistake,” said Fitz, darkly.

“Maybe they think you're slipping.”

“Word is you're having a bit of trouble, Fitz. That true?”

Fitz turned away from them, chin in the air, choosing the higher ground. “You guys find any clues?”

“A few,” one of the brothers said, conferring with the other's notes.

Fitz tapped his foot patiently. “Gonna share them? I can always let you know if they're real clues or if you just found your own grocery list.”

“We'd like to make this bust, Fitz,” one of the brothers said. Fitz didn’t know or care which one at this point. “It'd mean a long-term deal with Distant Star.”

“I hear they're making some changes up there,” said the other.

Fitz inhaled, long and slow, before trusting himself to speak again. “Boys. _I_ am going to solve this case, then _you_ are going back to your regular jobs tracking down lost poodles. Are we clear?”

One of the brothers nudged the other with a snorting chuckle. “We sure had a good laugh when we heard you thought the Johnson heist was an inside job, didn’t we Billy?”

“You're in over your heads, guys." Fitz lifted his hat and raked a hand through his hair in frustration. "This is a very smart burglar, and you guys have trouble figuring out who did it when you get a confession.”

“I'll tell you what we figure." A Koenig walked past Fitz, bumping his shoulder. "We're definitely looking for a tall man. Heavyset, athletic type, maybe in his mid-50s.”

Fitz scraped his hand down his face. “Belly button in or out?” The brothers were grasping at straws and trying to make themselves sound important. He'd seen this type of thing before and he lost patience with it early.

“Now if he's short at that weight, he's fat," the other Koenig pointed out. "Too fat to squeeze through the kitchen window.”

“Wanna show him the _big_ clue?” Koenig-One rocked smugly on his heels.

“What's the big clue?" Fitz sighed. "The guy leave behind a birth certificate for you?”

“Show him.” Koenig-Two bit his cheek to keep from grinning too widely. The first Koenig searched through the deep pockets of his coat and pulled out a worn cardboard coaster. It had _Rainbow Room_ written in fancy letters across it.

Fitz frowned.

“No one in this house was ever at the Rainbow Room,” a Koenig chirped, like he'd already solved the case.

“For God's sake, _I've_ been to the Rainbow Room." Fitz snatched the coaster to examine it closer. "The whole office has. So you got a coaster." He waved it about casually. "Big deal. Six million people have gone to The Rainbow Room.”

Koenig-One took the coaster from Fitz and stowed it neatly back into his pocket. “We're gonna nail this guy.”

“The important thing is that you don't think of us as competition.” Koenig-Two tipped his hat. The two brothers brushed past Fitz, wandering back to their car like proud peacocks.

“Don't worry," Fitz said, scowling after them. "I don't.”

* * *

 

“Will you relax already?" Mack stole a piece of licorice from Fitz' desk. The smaller man was busy chewing on a piece of his own, ruminating as he tossed ideas around his brain. Fitz did this when he was stressed. By now, he had already devoured two full bags of licorice. "Geez, Turbo, I've never seen you this on edge. We'll get the guy; we always do.”

“Can you believe she talked Daniels into hiring those two jerks?” Fitz pointed with the licorice at nothing in particular. Mack tilted his head and crossed his big arms over his chest. Fitz had asked the same thing at least twice already, and Mack had run out of responses. Fitz frowned deeper, gnashing his teeth into another bite of candy.

Mack sighed. “Look, you've been moping around all day. It's not like you. What's really going on? It's nothing to do with Simmons again is it?”

Fitz rolled his eyes, stood, and began to pace. Mack waited patiently as he mumbled to himself, going back and forth on something. Finally, he stopped in front of his desk and looked dead at his friend. “Mack. I have a confession to make.”

“Oh?”

“When I woke up this morning..." He groaned miserably, then pulled open one of his drawers. He grabbed something small and dainty and thrust it into Mack's beefy hands. "I found this on the floor in my apartment,” he whispered, looking over his shoulder at the hallway.

Mack opened his hand. It was a balled-up ladies' stocking. He raised an eyebrow and snorted in amusement. “Damn, Turbo, good job!”

Fitz hissed and grabbed the stocking back, stuffing it back in the drawer. “Will you shush? Not good job. I have no memory of being _with_ anybody last night, if you catch my meaning”

“Come on, that's nothing too strange." Mack grinned widely. "It happens.”

“There was also an empty bottle of _vodka_ on the floor," Fitz said, pretty fed-up with his friend's amusement. "I don't drink vodka.”

“All the more reason you blacked out." Mack shrugged. "Look, vodka does funny things to a person. Believe me.”

“I just can't figure it out." Fitz shook his head. He absently grabbed another piece of licorice and took a small bite. "There's something wrong here; I just know it..." He stepped away from his desk to stand at the door to his office. "I came back here last night... I wanted to check something.” He turned on the spot. “I remember that clearly. It was about 9:00 maybe..." He stopped suddenly. "Hey, wait a minute." He snapped. "I ran into - _Wait a minute!_ ”

“What are you thinking?”

“Of course!" He threw his hands up with excitement. "No wonder I thought it was an inside job. But it's not inside with the Starks or the Johnsons... It's inside _our company_ !” Fitz scrambled around his desk and started rifling through his papers.

“Come on, Fitz, you can't really think one of us would do it.”

“It's obvious!" He threw papers to the floor in his excitement. "Why didn't I see it right away?”

“Who would have done it?” Mack frowned. “Trip, Daisy and me are the only ones who have access to your security setups.”

“Yeah, but what if somebody _else_ was given access?" Fitz grinned, loving the thrill of the riddle. Finally locating his prize, he jabbed a finger at what looked like a sign-off form, then thrust it at Mack's face. "Someone we don't know as well... Because she hasn't worked here very long..?”

“You mean Simmons?” Mack raised his eyes above the paper, trying his best not to look as skeptical as he felt.

“Well, why not?" Fitz stood and shrugged. "We've had female jewel thieves before.” He closed the door to his office and hushed his voice. “She's always saying she can do anything a man can do.”

“I don't think she meant stealing...”

“But what do we _really_ know about her? Nothing.”

“She does have expensive tastes," Mack offered noncommittally. "She wears good jewelry.”

Fitz chewed on his lip, then sprang to his feet. “I have to get into her office!”

“What? Fitz, don't!”

“I'm doing it-” He grinned and waggled his eyebrows in excitement.

“-if you get caught, she'll kill you." Mack stepped in front of the doorway, blocking his friend. "She will literally and figuratively end your life.”

“But it makes all the sense in the world!" Fitz sagged, frustrated that he had to explain his theory so slowly when he was already fifty steps ahead in his mind. "She's here late every night," he listed off on his fingers. "She has the files - We _gave_ her the files. She knows the security information. I have to go through her things, Mack!” Fitz took full advantage of his smaller stature and ducked neatly underneath Mack's giant arms and through the door.

“Do _not_ rifle through her desk, Fitz!" Mack hissed after him. "You're gonna get-" But Fitz was already through her door. "...Caught...” Mack sighed. Sometimes he wished he was better at keeping his co-workers in line.

* * *

 

Fitz stepped lightly across the creaky floor of Simmons' office. He took a quick inventory of what he would need to find, and made a bee-line for her desk. That was where the important things would be.

He got to work, quickly shuffling through her drawers and flipping through sheets of paper. And there, sitting in her day-book, innocent as you please, was his first clue:

_6pm Dinner w. Sis_

Fitz narrowed his eyes at that. He knew for a fact that Simmons did not have a sister in the city, or even visiting for that matter. Intriguing. He searched his pockets for his notebook, and mentally berated himself for not grabbing it so he could jot down the address. That’s when he heard Mack's deep voice out in the hall making a very poor attempt at small talk. _The woman_ was back.

Fitz looked frantically around the room, and his eyes landed on something he should have grabbed at the start, sitting in one of her open drawers. As the clack of her heels got closer to the doorway, he made a split-second decision. He quickly grabbed at the shiny object. The door flew open.

Simmons stood there, and her eyes narrowed immediately at the sight of him standing conspicuously in her office. Fitz straightened, closing the drawer with a thud and placing his hands on his hips.

“What are you doing?”

“Me?" Fitz slipped the small object into his pocket casually, hoping she hadn't noticed. "No, I was just-”

“You're going through my desk.” She curled her upper lip into a sneer.

“I beg your _complete_ pardon!” Fitz side-stepped away from the desk, trying to sound offended.

“You're all red." She crossed her arms and stepped towards him. "You were snooping through my papers!”

“You know, only a suspicious, paranoid mind would say something like that," Fitz said, shifting closer to the door, careful to keep his back to the wall and eyes on her.

“You wormy little ferret!” She turned and launched herself towards him.

Fitz ducked, narrowly avoiding her outstretched fingers, which went straight for his throat. “Now you're mixing metaphors, so I can see you're upset.” He bobbed back up.

“I know exactly why you're snooping through my office-” she growled.

“-I was not _snooping!_ ”

“-You're looking for the Koenig-Morse Report, aren't you?”

Fitz froze and weighed his options. Deciding that the best defence was a good offence, he rounded on her, squaring himself straight ahead. “You only hired them to give me a hard time,” he spat.

“I did no such thing!”

“No, you did, admit it!" Fitz pointed a finger at her. "And now we're getting all over each other, crossing wires and what-not, and no one's made any progress!”

“These guys have made more progress in a few hours than you have in two days!” Simmons snapped. She pulled out the report and smacked it down on the table to prove her point. Fitz had to admit, it was a rather hefty document; clearly far more detailed than any reports he’d ever put together. He smirked and moved his eyes back to her, ready to make another biting comment. But then he noticed her stance and the redness of her eyes. She sniffed so imperceptibly that anyone else would have missed it.

“Wait, have you been crying?" he asked, shocked that she was able to experience such a thing as emotion. "Your mascara...”

“No no no no no." Simmons spun around so that her back was to him. She made a big show of tucking the report at the back of one of her drawers, but he didn't miss her taking the chance to wipe at her face. "Don't you try to tap-dance your way out of getting caught searching my desk.” She slammed the drawer shut and turned back to face him.

“I-I wasn't searching." He frowned. "I was _rummaging_ \- Can a colleague not rummage?”

Simmons huffed and jabbed her finger towards the door. He could all but see the steam escape from her ears. “Get out. If I ever catch you going through my stuff again-”

“-What are you afraid I'll find?”

She moved forward, herding him closer to the door. “You couldn't find your nose if I turned the lights out!”

“Watch out, 'cause I'm onto you." He glared at her, moving his face right up close to hers. "I know what you are. I know what you're about.”

They both breathed angrily, each measuring the other with narrowed eyes. Finally, Simmons took a small step back. “We should really both calm down." She pulled the door open and held it for him. "We just had lunch, and you're liable to overtax your heart and have a massive stroke, killing you instantly or paralyzing half your body." She smiled sweetly and shoved him through the doorway. "Have a nice day!”

The door slammed shut behind him before he had the chance to even think of something clever to say in response. Mack stood in the hall, waiting anxiously.

"So. How did it go?"

“Nevermind her office," Fitz waved off. "I have get into her _apartment_ .”

“Fitz! No.”

“Fitz, yes!” He rubbed his hands together. “She hit the ceiling when she caught me,” he explained, marching down the hall. Mack followed.

“Can you blame her?”

“'Cause she's guilty! Look behind her eyes... She's definitely hiding something.”

“I dunno. I think she's got pretty eyes.”

“I said look behind - _behind_ the eyes." Fitz stopped and tried to motion with his finger, making tight circles next to his temple. At Mack's amused expression, he stopped, realizing what motion he was making. He frowned and threw his hands up in defeat. "There's something not right with this broad. The minute I met her, I sensed there was trouble.”

“She says the same thing about you, y'know." Mack chuckled and leaned against a wall.

“Mack, I have to get into her place.”

“Now hold on, Fitz. Being an investigator doesn't put you above the law. She catches you, she's gonna have you locked up.”

“Has that ever stopped me before? Besides, she's going out tonight.”

“How do you know?”

“'Cause I went through her desk. I know her appointments. She's meeting her sister tonight for dinner at a restaurant across town.”

“But I thought she said her sister was back across the pond.”

“You see? Nothing she says ever checks out.”

Mack rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, you still can't break into her apartment...”

“Who said anything about breaking in?” Fitz grinned and pulled out the prize he'd snatched from her drawer.

Mack's face fell, “Fitz...”

“Relax, she'll never know it's missing." Fitz tossed the key in the air and pocketed it again with a wink. "I'm off to make a duplicate. I'll slip the original back in there when she's off powdering her nose or something.”

“You know, in another life you would have made one hell of a thief,” Mack groaned.

“It takes one to catch one." Fitz grinned and slipped neatly back into his office. "Don't forget that!”

* * *

 

Jemma Simmons' apartment was altogether far more cheerful than Fitz's expectations had prepared him for. The walls were plastered with bright, flowered wallpaper, and the sofa happened to be both fashion-forward and distractingly comfortable. Potted plants, eclectic tea sets and scientific journals were nestled into various nooks and crannies. It took him a moment to acclimatize to his surroundings. This was far from the repressed, anal-retentive cat-hovel he'd thought he would be walking into.

Fitz paused in front of her bookshelf. He'd always found the best judge of a person’s character to be in what books they kept. Simmons’ shelves were stuffed with more back-dated scientific journals and textbooks with notes sticking out of worn, tabbed pages. They were clearly often used. His eyes scanned along and fell on her own impressive collection of Agatha Christie novels. Hm. Another fan of detective series. Not that he'd read too much of dear old Aggie lately. Fitz was grudgingly impressed.

He plucked an oddly thick book off the shelf to examine it, and immediately balked when he turned over the cover. "My my, Miss Simmons," he exhaled. "What secret desires have _you_ been hiding?"

The couple on the front of the book were hardly dressed, and were poised to be in the throes of a deeply passionate -erm- embrace. Fitz raised an eyebrow and checked his watch. It was still early enough in the evening... he peeled back the cover, just for an educational peek.

Keys jangled at the lock of the door. Fitz perked his head up and swore silently as the person on the other side of the door fumbled at the lock. He snapped the book closed, looking frantically around, not sure where to stow it back - there was no time to fit it back in its spot where he'd found it - and it was too thick to fit in his pocket. Finally, he propped it precariously on the shelf above some other books and ran behind an oriental partition that stood mercifully nearby. The door opened. Fitz held his breath.

“Can I take your coat, honey?” It was Daniels. Fitz smirked. _Knew it!_ He raised his fist with mild triumph... until it dawned on him that he was stuck listening to whatever happened between the two of them until the room cleared. Fitz scowled.

“No, I'll get it.” Simmons said shortly. Hmm... She normally only ever reserved that irritable tone for Fitz and their little exchanges. Trouble in paradise? "Okay, what did you want to discuss?”

“No drink?”

“We've had enough drinks. How much alcohol do you need to be completely honest with me?”

“You're not making this very easy,” Daniels muttered.

“Why should I make it easy?”

“Because we care about each other.”

“Ha." Simmons chuckled darkly. "Before it was that you loved me. Now it's that you care for me?” The sound of ice hitting the bottom of a glass met Fitz's ears from behind the screen.

“Jemma, please, just sit down.”

“I'm not going to faint," she snapped. "I've been dumped before.”

“I wish you wouldn't say things like that.”

“Is that why you rushed me out of that restaurant to talk? Because you were afraid I was going to make a scene or pass out?"

“Well, you can be a highly volatile woman,” Daniels pointed out meekly.

“Can I?” she asked, her voice raised. “Most men complain I'm cool and distant.” Fitz could hear Simmons' heels clack against the wood flooring. She was pacing.

“Look, you know I care about you.”

The clacks stopped. “You said that. Get to the point.”

“It's not that I don't want to get married ever-”

“But you don't. In the end, you don't. Not to me.”

“It's just not the right time, Jemma.”

“Not the right time!" she scoffed. "What about all those promises? Those stories about how you were ready to settle down?”

“You're making this into a nightmare.”

“Isn't it? It is for me.”

Fitz saw some movement between the panels. He angled his eye and found he could just see what was going on if he stayed in the shadows. Daniels had seated himself on the sofa with a drink. Simmons stood by the small bar cart, arms folded tightly against her chest.

“Try to understand," Daniels said with a pained expression that must have been carefully practiced. "We can still be friends,” he offered.

“Oh, lovely!” Simmons picked up a bottle and got to work uncorking it.

“We can even continue to sleep together if you like.”

“ _That_ makes me feel _so_ much better!" She glared daggers at him, still struggling to open the bottle. "Which mistress will I be then, hm? The pretty one? Or the smart one?”

Daniels stood from the couch and walked over to her. She backed away until he reached over, carefully, like a lion-tamer, and took the bottle from her. He unscrewed the cap easily and held it out as a peace-offering. She sneered down her nose at it. Finally, he simply placed it back down on the coffee table. Her eyes followed, refusing to even look at him.

“You know." She sighed, her shoulders drooping slightly. "I only got involved with this because you told me you were tired of your playboy ways." Her eyes fluttered up to him. "You said you were ready to have a stable life. You wanted a wife. A family to share your dreams with.” She pressed her lips together and looked directly at him. Her voice was steady, but even Fitz could see the red splotches starting to creep up her chest and neck.

“When you say it like that, it sounds like I've deceived you,” Daniels said, the picture of a miserable man.

“Haven't you?”

“I didn't mean to. I respect you too much.”

“Well. Now we've gone from love to care to respect!" Simmons laughed. "This has been quite the whirlwind romance in the end, hasn't it?”

“Jemma.”

“Leave me _alone_ , okay?" Her voice finally hitched. She immediately scrunched her eyes closed and pressed the heel of  her palm to her forehead. "Please go.”

“Jemma-”

“Just go!" she snapped again. Her eyes were beginning to water, but she managed to pull the corners of her mouth into a smile. "I'll be fine. Just please leave me alone now.”

Daniels took a step toward her, apparently overcome by her grief. “Honey, listen-” He reached a comforting hand out to her. She watched it come, too worn out or too tired or too willing to believe a simple touch could change his mind. But as soon as he made contact with her arm, she jumped back like she'd been shocked.

“I said leave me alone!” Simmons shouted and turned her back to him.

Daniels immediately backed away. He picked up his coat from the edge of her sofa. He stopped with his hand just above the door handle. “I-I hope you decide to stay at Distant Star," he said sadly. "You're really helping to turn our company around.”

Simmons sighed from the corner of the room, looking up at the ceiling. “I guess we won't be having that honeymoon in Paris after all, will we?” She glanced over her shoulder to see his reaction. She wore a sad smile.

“I feel like such a jerk!” Daniels turned and strode immediately back across the room toward her, but she stopped him before he got too close.

“You shouldn't. It's my fault," she said, smoothing down her skirt. "I got into this against my better judgement.”

“Honey-”

“Just go." She forced a smile. Daniels clenched his hand around his coat, not sure what to actually do. "Go,” she instructed, giving him a firm nod.

As soon as the door shut behind Will Daniels' back, Simmons sank down into the sofa, defeated. After a moment, she lifted her head and placed an empty glass on the table next to the bottle he had opened. She stared at the glass. She stared at the bottle. She brought the bottle to her lips with a miserably satisfied groan.

Fitz decided it was time to stop watching. He turned around, but was met only with a wash of floaral wallpaper. He frowned and checked his watch. The sounds of sloshing liquid and a hiccup or two echoed from behind his little hiding spot. It would be a long night.

His opportune moment presented itself perhaps a half-hour later - though if questioned, it would seem like far longer in retrospect. Simmons had been attempting to sing along with the radio. The more she drank, the more off-tune she became. She was full of forced spunk and bravado and it was the furthest thing from pleasant he had ever experienced. When, at long last, silence met his ears, he allowed himself a moment to close his eyes in relief. He then peered between the panels of the partition.

The window was open wide, a soft breeze drifting in. Simmons stood on the other side of it, leaning her head against the cool metal of the fire escape. She took long, contemplative breaths, hugging herself and staring out at the busy city. She had become eerily silent.

Remembering himself, Fitz scrambled to his feet, ready to bolt for the door. He had nearly made it when his arm brushed against the book he’d stowed away in her bookshelf. It fell to the floor with a loud thud. Fitz froze and peered over his shoulder, wincing.  

Simmons whirled towards the sound, but then, as if in slow motion, he watched as she stumbled on the grate in her surprise, losing her balance and veering precariously towards the ledge.

Her arms flailed, unable to find purchase. Without another thought, Fitz raced straight for the window. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her safely back into the apartment, heaving her onto the couch. In the heat of it all, his own footing slipped and he landed right on top of her.

Wide eyed, and more than a little inebriated, Simmons stared up at Fitz in shock. A full ten seconds passed before she registered what was happening. He could tell. He counted exactly how long it took for her face to contort with rage.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!”

Fitz pushed himself up off her and leapt to his feet across the room. “What do you mean, what am I doing here?” He straightened, casually placing his hands on his hips.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!” Simmons asked again, sitting up on the couch, stiff with rage.

“Oh, I-I just happened to be passing through,” Fitz said with a wave of his hand.

She scrunched her eyebrows. “You _what_ ?”

He searched his mind for a plausible excuse, but was finding it oddly difficult to think. “I'm- What do you- I was- I'm- I was…” Fitz dropped his head in defeat and pointed. “I was hiding behind your screen.”

“Behind my _what_ ?”

“You have this lovely Japanese screen just over there.” He gestured again. “I was hiding behind it.”

Simmons’ head followed his outstretched hand to the screen, bewildered, then slowly back to him. She blinked, then stood, wobbling only slightly. “How did you bloody get in? Tell me. And how long have you been here?”

“Well…” Fitz winced. “What time is it?” Her expression was exceedingly unamused. He shrugged. “I've been here quite a while, actually.”

“You _broke_ into my apartment?” Simmons took a step towards him, her voice going dangerously quiet.

“No, that’s a harsh term. I didn't _break in,_ ” he explained, calmly backing away. “See, I made a duplicate of your key.” He fished for it in his pocket, then held it up so she could see.

“You what?”

“Which you can have for no extra charge, by the way.” He held it out to her. “It's good to have two keys, in case an emergency happens, or-”

Simmons was looking at the key furiously, when all of a sudden, to his surprise, she burst into tears. “ _Why_ did you do this to me?” She spun away, covering her face. She threw herself back onto the couch.

“What? Why?” Fitz glanced around the room, uncomfortable with the crying woman whose house he was trespassing in. “To be honest, it-it’s because I'm convinced somebody up at Distant Star is responsible for the jewel robbery, that’s why.” Fitz sat down on the couch next to her. He tried to decide whether or not he should put a comforting arm around her. It ended up just hovering awkwardly in the air.

“And you think I did it?” She sat up and sniffed at him, incredulous.

He tucked his arm back behind him. “Well, you're a prime suspect, yes.”

“Based on _what_ ?”

“Based on the fact that I know everybody else better than you,” Fitz countered. He paused and replayed that sentence to himself, then added: “And you have access to all the data, so.”

“So? You have access to it as well!”

“But you were so nervous the other night when I caught you up in the office,” he pointed out. “Remember? I came up and you were acting all strange and suspicious. Plus you were at the Rainbow Room. You grabbed a coaster. I saw you put it in your-”

“So you broke into my apartment _illegally_ , and spied on me?”

“I wasn't spying,” he huffed. “Why must you insist on these harsh terms? I was _rummaging_ . I'm a big rummager.”

“Rummaging?” She stared blankly at him.

“I was rummaging in the afternoon. I saw 'dinner with my sister' written in your planner. All those sisters, all those dinners…” He stopped and looked at his hands. “Ah, those were with Daniels, weren’t they?” He glanced up at her.

Simmons looked at him in horror, then sank deeper into the couch and covered her face. “Oh, God, I'm mortified!” She reached mournfully for the bottle and immediately tipped its contents down her throat.

“Stop that!” Fitz grabbed the bottle from her. “If it wasn't for me being here, they'd be scraping you up off the sidewalk, you know.”

“If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have nearly fallen out the window in the first place, you slimy little weasel!” She snapped. “And it’s none of your business, anyways.” She narrowed her eyes at him, then went for the bottle. He held it out of her reach.

“And over a jerk like Daniels,” he tutted, standing up and moving to the other side of the room with the bottle.

“He's not a jerk. He's _wonderful_ ,” Simmons growled. “He's twice the man you are, you roach.”

“Don't you see? He gives you these stories so he can get in your pants!” Fitz rolled his eyes. “He's never gonna settle down with one girl. Especially not a nice girl like you.”

“You witnessed my humiliation...” Jemma had given up on the bottle and begun, instead, to curl herself into a ball on the sofa.

“The only humiliating thing is how this guy takes advantage of a woman who’s so smart,” Fitz said, looking down at her.

“No, no, no!” Simmons sat up straight again. “You are not fit to discuss Will Daniels!” She stood on wobbly legs and propped her hands onto her hips.

“You can't honestly still love him after all that!” Fitz balked. She smirked at him. “I can't believe it.”

“Get out before I call the police and have you arrested for breaking and entering,” Simmons spat. Her threat was lessened only by the amount that she swayed as she pointed at the door.

“I'm not leaving you alone here tonight, are you crazy? Look at you.” He tilted his head. She tried to take a step forward, but stumbled. He caught her. “I'd ask if you had any friends to take care of you, but I know the answer.”

She groaned and attempted to complain as he dragged her back over to the couch. When he hoisted her up onto it, she immediately curled herself into a ball and refused to look at him.

“Great. Are you okay?”

Receiving no response, Fitz took off his coat with a sigh and draped it around her. From the rise and fall of her shoulders, she appeared to have fallen instantly asleep, the stress of the day mixing with the copious amounts of alcohol into a perfect sleeping potion.

He watched her lying there for a moment. She looked so peaceful and calm. Rather beautiful, actually, once the venom was relaxed out of her features. She sniffed and grimaced in her sleep, and Fitz nodded to himself.

He walked over to turn off the lights and his shoe brushed against the book that had fallen and caused this whole commotion in the first place. He stooped to pick it up, sneering at the couple on the cover.  When a low rumbling snore began to emanate from where she lay, Fitz rolled his eyes and settled himself into the chair across the room from her.  It would be a long night spent babysitting a sleeping Jemma Simmons, of all people. How did he get himself into these situations?


	4. Too Close For Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
>   

Light spilled into the room and Jemma woke with a splitting headache. Her mouth was dry and her stomach felt like mush. She gingerly opened one eye. At first she was confused to find herself in the living room, but decided that thinking about it hurt her head too much. Shifting to sit up, she was even more surprised when a familiar trench coat slipped to the floor from her shoulders. Some very strong tea would be in order before she could even begin to sort all that out in her mind.

Jemma rolled herself off the sofa and managed to shuffle into the kitchen. When she saw the man reaching up into one of her cabinets, she froze. Eggs and bacon were frying in a pan behind him. His sleeves were rolled up and his hair was messy. He clearly hadn't shaved recently. A few buttons of his shirt were undone, and it became untucked at the waist as he stretched his lean body towards the shelf above. Jemma caught a glimpse of skin at his stomach, and she closed her eyes tightly.

“What the hell are _you_ doing here?” she croaked between dry lips.

Fitz settled back onto his heels and surveyed her, holding up a small box innocently. “I'm making tea.”

She frowned, wanting to argue, but not quite sure about what. The details were fuzzy. But then, a snippet. Jemma’s eyes widened as her memories of the night before came flooding back. “Oh, God!" A hand flew to her mouth. "You came here last night! You - you thought I stole some jewels!” She began smacking his arm just as he tried to plop a teabag into the pot next to the frying pan.

Fitz flinched and held his arms up to shield himself from her menacing hands. “Stop that! In my defense, this happens to be a very confusing case.”

“I'll say you're confused." She sniffed and hugged herself. "Why didn't you go home to sleep?”

“You're joking." He stared down at her. "I couldn't let you do something crazy, the state you were in.”

“What state? I was fine.” She took the tea bag from him and put it into the teapot herself.

“Well for starters, you nearly did a swan dive out the window!”

She winced as the memory floated to the front of her mind. Of him pulling her away from the ledge at just the right moment. Of him landing on top of her on the sofa. His body had been much more firm and warm than she’d expected. Not that she’d had time to notice any of that. “If I recall correctly, that little incident was your own fault. You startled me.” She put her hands on her hips. “Besides, how do you know I wouldn’t have done something crazy even with you here?”

“Because I watched over you.” He put his hands on his hips too, mirroring her.

Jemma stopped and frowned at his stance. She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. She immediately dropped her arms to her sides. “You stayed up all night watching me?”

“That's exactly right. Yes." Fitz nodded like it wasn't even a question. He waited for her to make a cutting remark, but she couldn’t think of anything. She didn’t know what to do with her hands anymore. Gazing up at him, she began to absently rub at her elbow. They both stood there in silence for a moment. Clearing his throat, Fitz finally turned back to the fryer. "And you snore like a grizzly bear with a sinus condition, by the way.”

Moving over to the small kitchen table with her teapot, Jemma noted he'd already set out the plates and cutlery. “I had a bad moment last night," she said gruffly. "I'm fine now.”

“And you talk in your sleep.” He waved the spatula.

She smirked, pouring herself a cup of tea and settling back into their usual rhythm. “You probably took notes, you suspicious little inchworm.”

“You mentioned my name," he crowed. He brought the frying pan over to the table where she had seated herself with her cup. He dished the bacon and eggs onto her plate. "I thought you were awake. You said I should rot in hell.”

“I was probably awake.” She grinned and took a sip of tea.

“Figured you were feeling better,” he shrugged.

She looked down at the greasy meal Fitz had prepared for her, and her stomach churned. Somehow, not wanting to appear rude, she forced a tiny bite of egg down her throat. It landed in her gut like rubber. She stole a glance over at the wall-clock, and immediately stood. "Fitz! Why didn't you wake me? I have to be at work in 30 minutes!"

Fitz frowned, his head whipping around after her. "Didn't think you'd be heading in to the office today, to be honest."

"Well you thought wrong!" She rushed for the bathroom and started the water running in the shower. Popping her head back out, she gave him a pointed look. "You have to go. We can't arrive together, people will talk! Get a change of clothes too, while you're at it," she barked. She bobbed back into the bathroom to get undressed.

Fitz looked from the bathroom door which she'd left slightly ajar, to the plate of abandoned breakfast. "Please," he snorted. He watched the steam start to escape from the small room. "You and me? That's the _last_ thing people would talk about, sister."

“Just go!" she snapped, her voice somewhat muffled. Suddenly her head appeared again. Her hair was tied up out of her face, and her body was angled away behind the door. Fitz forgot what he was going to say. "And don't dare gossip about what you saw here,” she scolded him.

“Nobody's going to gossip," he said quietly. Simmons narrowed her eyes, then nodded and disappeared back into the steaming room. Fitz released a long breath. Finding his coat on the floor, he spoke loudly as he picked it up. "In fact, I couldn't care less about your life, Simmons. It means nothing to me!" He walked over to the front door, facing the bathroom so she could hear. "I couldn't stand you when I met you, and I can't stand you now! I find you obnoxious and pompous and-”

"-I'm sorry are you saying something?" she sang. "The water's a bit loud!"

"Yeah, well, do me a favour at the office and pretend you don't know me, okay?"

“Don't choke on your breakfast and die of asphyxiation," she called after him. "You'll wind up unable to dislodge a large piece of toast, no matter how hard you cough!”

Her front door slammed shut.

* * *

 

Fitz did not go home, and he did not get a change of clothes. Instead, he opted to grab a bagel from one of his contacts on the street to see if any news about the case had come up.

It had not.

It was looking like it would be another long, harrowing day. To be honest, he was rather looking forward to getting back to the office. Once he got his hands on it, he would bury his nose in that copy of the Koenig-Morse report for the fun of it. Simmons had nearly bit his head off over it before, but surely saving her life will have earned him at least a small favour.

As soon as Fitz waltzed into the office, however, Daisy waved him over. Trip was leaning over her desk - the two had obviously been flirting. Fitz nodded pleasantly and noted the distinct lack of jealous pang he should have felt. Perhaps their outing to the Rainbow Room had cured him of that inconvenient little crush he'd been harbouring. Good. If his night with Simmons had proven anything to him, it was that he had no desire for messy romantic entanglements like she and Daniels had gotten themselves into.

“Fitz, Mr. Daniels asked for you to go see him as soon as you got in." Daisy grinned, trying to keep her eyes off of Trip. "He’s waiting in the big office.”

“The big office?”

Daisy shrugged. “That’s all I know. Hurry up, they only all just arrived.”

“All-?” Fitz wanted more information, but Daisy had already turned her attention back to Trip and was too busy giggling to give him anything else. Fitz set his shoulders and hurried down the hall. They never used the big office unless it was for some big announcement or party or the like. The last time it was used, Daniels Senior had announced his retirement. Perhaps his son was finally getting around to throwing him that retirement party he'd promised. Unlikely.

“Mr. Daniels, you sent for-" The room was full, set up for a full conference. "Oh. I see." Fitz looked around. He was obviously the last to arrive. A few members of the Distant Star Board were there, as well as the Koenigs and an elegant blonde woman who looked like she ought to be running the whole establishment. Simmons stood quietly in the corner, hands folded in front of her, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Fitz smirked at the Koenigs. "If you'll all open your Chem books to page 90,” he said, doing his best impersonation of his old Professor.

“Sit down please, Fitz," Daniels said abruptly. "We have a situation.”

Fitz shot Daniels a dirty look and crossed his arms over his chest, not sitting.

"I'll let Ms. Morse bring you up to speed." Daniels gestured to the woman at the head of the table. Not noticing the venomous look that his lead investigator aimed at him, Daniels gave the tall woman what must have passed for a charming wink. She didn't appear affected. Still, Fitz leaned against the wall behind the empty chair in defiance.

The woman in question sat up straight and spoke with clear authority. Ms. Morse definitely had this whole professional act together far better than the Koenigs did, that was for sure. "After a careful search," she said, hardly glancing at the report in front of her, "using some of the most advanced techniques in the industry, my team has found some interesting pieces of evidence."

Fitz snorted. “Yeah? Leading to whom, Eleanor Roosevelt?” He glanced over at Simmons. Her head was bowed. She appeared to be focusing all her attention at not making eye contact with anyone in the room.

“We got a shoe print off the parapet at the Johnson estate,” Ms. Morse continued, shifting her eyes directly to Fitz.

“So?” He lifted a shoulder, unimpressed. A shoe print was a shoe print.

“An eight-and-a-half 'C' Florsheim Cordovan.” Her eyes flashed.

“Only worn by 20 million people!" Fitz smirked and pushed away from the wall. "I mean, _I_ wear an eight-and-a-half 'C' Florsheim Cordovan shoe.”

“Yes.” She pressed her lips together. After a rather pregnant pause, Ms. Morse lifted a sheet of paper from her report and passed it around the conference table. “We also recovered a couple of hairs. One on the rug at the Johnson estate, the other one actually inside the Stark safe. They appear to be a match.”

“Forgive me if I'm not knocked out.” Fitz rolled his eyes, gripping the back of the chair, still refusing to be seated to look at the paper as it passed. "This is what we're paying extra for? I could have told you all of that without this whole charade." He gestured around the room.

“Oh, we don't mean just to each other,” Ms. Morse said quietly, eyes boring into him. "They match yours, Mr. Fitz. Just like the shoes.”

Fitz tilted his head, waiting for the punch line. When none came, he looked at the Koenigs. They were sitting there smugly, but even they had no hint of humour about them. He held up a finger. “Now hold on just a minute," he said. "I know you all are angling for my job, but-”

“-We also got a fingerprint off the coaster,” one of the Koenigs chimed in with a nod.

“The Koenig-Morse lab uses highly sensitive apparatus,” the other brother added.

“You’re gonna tell me it’s mine, too?” Fitz dropped his hands to his sides. This whole line of investigation was a waste of time.

“It is, Fitz.” Daniels said quietly, looking up from the paper that had made its way around to him.

Fitz stared around the room blankly. “Well so what?” He hoped he wasn't the only one who saw how ridiculous this all was. “So I leave a shoe print on the parapet, or I inadvertently drop a coaster-”

“-The coaster was found before you got over to the place,” a Koenig brother said primly.

Fitz lifted a finger again and opened his mouth to retort, but could think of nothing. He folded his finger back into his fist and clenched in frustration.

“Nobody is making any accusations at the moment,” Ms. Morse said pleasantly, gesturing with a carefully manicured hand.

“But you do have a lot of outstanding debt from all your little experiments-” a Koenig said.

“You can't seriously be _investigating_ me,” Fitz said, unable to believe he had to actually say the words.

Daniels stood and met his eyes levelly. “Fitz, I assure you, this is only an in-house inquiry right now,” he said. “We don't want the police to know about it, and we're certainly not looking for bad publicity.”

“Simmons,” Fitz turned to her, attempting his last appeal, “what do you think?" She looked up, almost surprised that anyone remembered she was even in the room. "Say something. You're smarter than all them combined. You think I did it?”

She gaped at him, eyebrows knitted together. Trying to form words, she opened her mouth silently.

Daniels looked from Fitz to Simmons, whose eyes had locked together, and in the quiet that hung in the air between them, he smirked. He held up a hand before Jemma could speak. “Please, let's not have our daily FitzSimmons bloodbath between you two,” he shook his head. “Jemma is not an investigator.”

“But she's a very bright woman," Fitz insisted, finally tearing his eyes away from hers. "She's got a lot of ideas. She was the one who brought these two mouth breathers in on this case.”

“It's nothing personal," a Koenig sniffed. "We're just building a case where the evidence leads.”

“Look, we all want to catch the jewel thief," Fitz said, trying to rationalize with them. "But you lot are just wasting time and resources. You know I'm on your side. Don't do this.” He looked at Simmons again, and she blinked under the intensity of his pleading gaze. If she could have buried her head, she would have. She looked torn and defeated. She remained silent.

Daniels stood, the executioner of the unspoken sentence. “It’s probably best if you stay home for a few days Fitz." He patted him on the shoulder. "Just until the heat dies down on all this.”

Fitz exhaled.  "Right. Yeah. Totally understand," he said numbly. He looked around the room one last time. When no one met his gaze, he sniffed. It was funny how fast a whole group of people’s loyalties could shift when presented with the right data. Fitz stormed out of the conference room.

“Daisy," he barked, "I want a résumé of every employee who works here messengered to my flat as soon as possible.”

She looked up, shocked, then stood and watched as the big office emptied out into the hall. Her eyebrows knitted together, wanting to ask him what happened, but, seeing someone over his shoulder, she sat back down without a word.

"Fitz." He turned. Simmons was hurrying over to him. He glared down his nose at her, not sure he was ready to hear what she had to say now that it was too late.

"What?" he spat.

"I-" She looked oddly pained, still searching for what to say.

“-Don't worry Fitz, we'll get to the bottom of this,” Daniels said loudly, appearing over her shoulder. “Oh, Miss Simmons, I wanted to meet with you later.”

She pressed her lips together, and turned to him, looking professionally distant. “About what, Mr. Daniels?”

“Our, uh, Paris account,” he said, attempting to meet her professionalism and failing. Fitz rolled his eyes. This was the one part of the office dynamic he would not miss during his time away.

Simmons smiled pleasantly up at her boss. “As I recall, that account is closed Mr. Daniels.” She started to walk away, but Daniels subtly reached out a hand to hers, holding her back.

“I have to see you later," he whispered into her ear. Apparently he didn't seem to notice or care that Fitz was still within hearing range. "Just to talk. I behaved like such a fool before. Later, for a drink. Just for a drink.”

Simmons’ eyes softened slightly. She turned her head and briefly glanced at Fitz before twitching the corners of her mouth up into a smile at Daniels. Fitz looked away, pretending that he hadn't been paying attention. Simmons addressed Daniels pleasantly, removing his hand from hers. She then walked down the hall to her office, heels clacking resolutely against the office tiles. Fitz left before he could see whether or not Daniels followed.

* * *

 

Time away from the office wasn't the worst thing in the world, exactly. Daisy had kept good on her promise and had the résumés sent over almost as soon as he arrived back. He spent some time in the afternoon pouring over them, but it did no good. He already knew everyone in the office, and aside from little white lies here and there on their CVs – Trip definitely could not type 75 words per minute – nothing was helpful to the case.

It was frustrating being stuck in one place; especially when his cat-burgling nemesis was still at large. His White Whale. Not only had the jewel-thief managed to confound his investigation, but he (or she) had somehow turned the spotlight on Fitz. Was this a personal vendetta? The more he thought about it, the more he was sure it had to be someone at Distant Star, but no one was fitting the bill.

Deciding it was time for a short break, Fitz pulled out his latest detective novel. Perhaps good old Hercule Poirot would offer some inspiration. Concentration was a fickle commodity, however, and his eyes kept wandering over to the clock. He shifted back over to the résumés again. No good. His fingers itched. If only he could get back into his office. Tinkering always helped him think, and his latest experiment was locked in there. Even going over the security schemes for commonalities between both estates was sure to drum up some clues. That would never happen though. There was no way he'd be allowed back in the building while under suspicion.

A low rumbling emitted from his stomach region, signalling that it was well past time for dinner. He moved to the fridge and groaned at its severely lacking contents. He should have gone to the store, but it was too late for that now. Eggs and sausage it would have to be, then.

Just as he was about ready to tuck in, the doorbell to his flat rang. With a grumble, he marched over to the door and threw it open, an irritated scowl ready for whoever was keeping him from his hard-earned meal. “Oh. Well look who the cat dragged in!” It was Simmons.

She stood in the hallway, looking nervous and unsure. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure." He stepped aside to let her through, giving her a long, curious glance as she passed.

She looked around, not trying very hard to hide the look of disgust at the general unkemptness of his place. "It's a little messy," he said over her shoulder. "If I knew you were coming, I would have had the maid rearrange the dirt.”

“Are you alone?” She faced him, getting straight to business and not bothering with their usual banter.

“Alone? Yeah, of course.” His breath caught.

“I would have called, but I decided it was safer to talk to you in person.” She worried her hands together.

“What do you mean, 'safer'?"

“I can't stay long.”

“Why?" He scoffed. "You gonna meet Daniels in Paris?”

She jutted out a hip and scowled at him. “That is _none_ of your business,” she snapped.

“Well thanks for coming to my defense today in the office, by the way." He let the bitterness drip from his words. "It was really nice of you.”

“That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually." Simmons' expression softened and she looked down at her hands. "The Koenig brothers had Raina Johnson in for questioning today." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then met his eyes again. "She told them she was with you the night before last. And then you got a phone call in the middle of the night and got rid of her because you had to go someplace... at midnight.”

“Oh is that all?" Fitz rolled his eyes. "Don't look at me like that, Simmons, she's clearly lying!" Simmons' indignant expression was almost worth her ridiculous theory. "In what universe would _I_ kick Raina Johnson out of my bed? I mean, it's _Raina Johnson_.”

Simmons narrowed her eyes at him, but not out of malice, like she was studying an abstract painting. “Why are you lying to me?”

“Why did you come here with this crazy story?” He gestured to the door in frustration and turned back to the kitchen. "You want some tea?"

“No. If you must know, I'm only here because I-I should have spoken up at that meeting today," she said quietly. "Because while I do think you're a mealy-mouthed little -”

“-Reptile.”

“Reptile, thank you. I don't quite think you're a jewel thief.”

He handed her a mug of tea, which she accepted absently. “What makes you so positive?”

She considered him, chewing on her lower lip. It was as though the question had never occurred to her, and she was only just realizing that it might be necessary in this sort of situation to have a reason. “It's too daring for you," she settled on. "You're not romantic enough. It requires flair and imagination. My instinct is telling me you're not the thief.”

Fitz folded his arms, bemused. “I didn't think you had instincts.”

“Oh I have them," she defended. "I just don't usually _trust_ them. Especially when it comes to sizing up men..." She looked him up and down, then shook her head and took a sip of tea. "But this time I can feel it. You're good at weaselly type things, like snooping and spying. You're not man enough to be a cat burglar.”

“Well thank you for that assessment Miss Simmons. I'll be sure to have my solicitor start the defense on those grounds. 'Not Man Enough'." He smirked at her. "You know, you sound like you're attracted to men who break the law.”

“We're not here to discuss me," she ruffled. "We're here to discuss what Raina Johnson told the Koenigs.”

“But I was never _with_ Raina Johnson!”

Simmons searched around the apartment in a huff, and when she settled on something in his overstuffed arm chair, she held it up for him to see. “She said she left her stocking here.”

Fitz blinked and moved to touch the stocking in Simmons’ grasp. Like it was a cursed object, he moved his hand away before it made contact. “Hey, that could be anybody's. I don't know - a lot of women pass through this apartment...”

She rolled her eyes. “I'm sure you're not overly particular.”

“What do you want from me?”

Simmons stamped her foot on the floor in frustration. “I came here to tell you that a case is building against you. Be honest with me!”

“I am being honest!” He held up his palms defensively.

“Then where did you get this stocking?” She brandished it in his face

He ducked to the side. “It's some broad's! I don't know." He let his hands fall to his sides. Fitz didn't know what else to say. He honestly couldn't remember where the stocking had come from or how it could have gotten there. Perhaps he was being framed more thoroughly than he first suspected, and Raina Johnson was in on it. This wasn't something he wanted to discuss with Simmons of all people, though. "A lot of women come through here, and they lose earrings, stockings, I don't keep track. It could belong to anyone,” he said.

Simmons looked at him coldly. “Well Raina Johnson says it's hers. She also says she tipped the super. He let her in here, so that story checks out.” Fitz opened his mouth to respond, but naturally, the doorbell rang instead. Simmons' head jerked to the door frantically. “Whoever that is, I'm not here!” She stuffed the stocking in her pocket and looked around the small flat for somewhere to hide.

Fitz was both amused and baffled at how she was reacting. “What? Wh-” He shrugged and went to the door to check the peep-hole. “Who is it?” He called out.

“It's Sam and Billy Koenig.”

Simmons shook her head. “I don't want to be seen here!” she hissed as quietly as possible.

“Why? What's the problem? Am I some sort of a leper now?”

“You're under suspicion," she said through gritted teeth. "I would have a _lot_ of explaining to do.”

“You know, I think you're still hooked on Daniels. That's why you don't want anyone to know you’re here.” She gaped furiously at him, one eye on the door. He sighed and gestured with his arms. “Just - Go down the end of the hall. There's a bedroom. You can shut the door.”

She hesitated for a moment. “Can I sit down in there, or will I catch something?”

“Germs can't live in your bloodstream." He rolled his eyes, ushering her down the hall. "It's too cold.”

Simmons slipped behind the door out of sight, and Fitz closed it carefully behind her.

“Let's go Fitz. Open up!” The Koenigs were pounding on the door pretty impatiently now.

“Just a minute!” He did a quick run around the apartment, picked up Simmons' tea cup and put it back again before heading to the door. He plastered a casual grin on his face and pulled on the handle, one arm leaning on the door frame to block their view inside. “Hey boys. You sure you have the right apartment? The traps with the cheese are in the basement.”

“Can we come in?” The Koenigs pushed past Fitz without waiting for his reply.

“Now hold on just a minute. I've got a dinner date to prepare for, and if I don't hurry up-”

“Wouldn't happen to be with Raina Johnson, would it?”

“Raina Johnson?” Fitz balked animatedly. “Come on. I may be good, but I'm not _that_ good.”

“She says she was here the other night." One of the Koenigs surveyed the overstuffed chair Simmons had found the stocking in. "Then you dumped her to go out on some mysterious middle-of-the-night business.”

“Really? And you believe her?" Fitz rubbed the back of his neck and gave a hearty chuckle. "Guys. Seriously. Would _I_ dump Raina Johnson?”

“Problem is, the night guard from the Distant Star building says you’ve made some strange middle-of-the-night visits to your office too." One of the Koenigs walked right up to Fitz, eyeing him suspiciously. "Both nights the robberies took place.”

Fitz stepped back and felt the wall behind him. “Fellas, I'd love to chat with you about this, really, but I have a date to prepare for." He motioned to the front entrance. "We can discuss this later, yeah?”

“You know you're facing a long jail sentence, Fitz." The other Koenig strolled through the room and stood next to his brother, cornering Fitz. "This is no joking matter. We're gonna turn this over to the police tomorrow. There's a case developing that's pretty incriminating.”

“Yeah, well it's all circumstantial evidence at best," Fitz countered. "That's all you've got.”

“Many a man's gone to the gallows on circumstantial evidence.” A Koenig said ominously.

“Well boys, the gallows will have to wait for my dinner," he said flatly. He opened the door and waited for them to take the hint. "If you catch the jewel thief in the mean time, let me know. I'll get you both matching merit badges.” The brothers both scrutinized him pompously as they meandered past into the hallway. They turned back around to get a last jab in, but Fitz shut the door on their idiot grins, cutting them off.

Before anything else could threaten his evening, Fitz sagged against the door and took a moment for a long, deep breath. Whoever was framing him was doing too good of a job. It's almost as if they knew him better than he knew himself. They'd managed to plant evidence, and somehow got Raina Johnson of all people to play along – not to mention his superintendent and the night watchman up at Distant Star. Perhaps there was some sort of mind-control happening, or a mass hallucination? Fitz dragged his hands down his face, then shook his head to clear it before standing up straight again. “Okay," he called out, heading back to the bedroom where Simmons was hiding. "You can come out now. They're-” He froze.

Simmons stood in the middle of the room in shock. Her hands were dripping with more gold necklaces and brightly coloured jewels than Fitz had ever seen in one room before. He stared at her, eyes wide. “What is this?”

“I-I was – just browsing through your bookshelf... and - I found these.”

They both stared at her hands.

“This is – These - Those are the Johnson jewels." He pointed. "And the Stark jewels and the - where did you...?" Fitz tore his eyes from the glittering gems to search her face. "Hey, what are you looking at me like that for?”

“I was aware that you sneaked up to the office in the middle of the night," she breathed. "The lobby guard saw you. I know you have Raina Johnson's stocking, and she swears you kicked her out of bed to take care of sudden business, which your superintendent corroborates." Her eyes were darting back and forth. She was beginning to spiral. "They have a shoe print, a coaster with your fingerprint..." She cocked her head to the side. "And _still_ I believed that you didn't do it. But now the actual stolen property turns up hidden in your bedroom, and-”

“-So what are you saying?" Fitz cut her off. "This makes you suspicious of me?”

Simmons closed her eyes and began to pace, the long necklaces swinging through the air in her grip. “I was actually a bit touched that you stayed up all night watching over me," she said in disbelief. "I began to think that maybe you're not the scummy little vermin you seem to be-”

“-Hey, I may be a scummy vermin, but I'm an _honest_ scummy vermin." Fitz held his hands out. "I didn't take these jewels.”

“How can you still deny it?" She raised her jewel-filled fist to him. "You've been caught red-handed.”

“Yes, I- I grant you there's a fingerprint of me... and they have a shoe print, and the jewels are in my bedroom. But I -" Fitz looked around the bedroom, grasping for an explanation and coming up blank. "I'm starting to think I'm in tremendous trouble here...” He scratched the back of his head.

“I'm calling the police.” Simmons stormed out of the bedroom and towards the telephone.

“No!" Fitz raced after her. He put a hand on the phone before she could lift the receiver. She moved her hand away as soon as his touched her, like she'd been burnt. "Will you just forget about logic for a minute and try to give me the benefit of the doubt?”

“That makes me an accessory!” she hissed.

“Not if I'm innocent! Please.”

“Innocent!" She shook the jewels at him again. "You don't have a innocent bone in your body.”

“This is how you get yourself into these problems, you know." He wagged  a finger at her. "That's why Daniels is waiting for you, right? You make all the wrong decisions ‘cause you make them up here," he pointed to his temple, "not here," he reached down and spread a hand over her heart. Her eyes went wide as she looked down at his warm hand covering her chest. He flinched apologetically and quickly moved it back to his side. "Look, you didn't think I did it before. What's your gut telling you?”

She jutted her chin in the air and met his eyes steadily. They stared at each other for perhaps a little longer than was necessary. Was Simmons sizing him up? Was she changing her mind? God, if he could just change her mind, the rest he could handle. She blinked. And the phone rang.

Fitz jumped on it and held her back at arm's length before she could leap for it herself. “Hello?”

“ _Capuchin_.”

* * *

 

Fitz dropped his arm, immediately releasing Simmons. She scooted to the side, but instead of leaving to go to the police like she should, she stared at him, intrigued. His face grew blank as he listened intently through the receiver.

Simmons stood in his living room with a fistful of jewels, oddly undecided. She should definitely leave now and go turn him in. That would be the correct thing to do. While he was distracted. So there would be no chance of an altercation. He didn't look like much, but who knew what this man was really capable of?

Her feet remained planted on the floor, and before she could coax them into action, Fitz hung up the telephone. He turned and looked at her. As he appeared to register her continued presence, his expression brightened like he was seeing the sun after too long in the dark.

“Miss Simmons!" he said airily. She shifted her weight, preparing herself for whatever he had in store. "Have I ever told you that you're the most beautiful woman I've ever met?”

Her mouth fell open. That was unexpected. “I'm turning you in,” she snapped. Gathering her head, she tried to push past him, but he grasped gently onto her hand before she could get far, and pulled her much closer to him than she had ever been before. Her breath caught. He had a surprisingly nice-smelling cologne. Cedar and lemons and...

“No, I mean it," he cooed, looking at her with the biggest puppy-dog eyes she had ever seen. "You know, that's what made me first fall in love with you. Those beautiful eyes of yours...” He brushed a fingertip along the side of her face.

Simmons felt her eyelids begin to flutter as she leaned in to his touch. Not a moment too soon, she came to her senses, blinked and pushed him away. “Are you actually trying to sweet-talk me?” She stumbled, but caught herself on the arm of the chair, avoiding him as he reached to catch her. The jewels tumbled from her hands, but she moved to the other side of the room, putting the overstuffed chair safely between her and Fitz.

He stood calmly where he was and rubbed the back of his neck. “I resisted because, well, deep down I thought you would never feel the same." He looked up with those shining eyes again, and she had to force herself to breathe. "I know I'm not nearly good enough for you, and I didn't want to put myself in a position to get hurt, so I pushed you away.”

“Fitz," she breathed. "Let me set you straight once and for all. I wouldn't be interested in you if you were the only man on the planet!"

"Perhaps we could discuss it over dinner?" He gave her a hopeful little lop-sided grin, and she had to close her eyes. "I've just recalled a previous engagement now, but tomorrow night." He tried to step towards her again, but she held a hand out and he stopped. "I know a lovely candlelit restaurant. I could look into your eyes and tell you all the wonderful things I think of you.”

She steeled herself. “If I didn't know what a squirming little trapped rat you were, I'd think you had brain damage,” she spat back at him.

Fitz stayed where he was, between her and the door, but not coming any closer. She tapped her foot and tried to wrap her mind around what he was saying. He was speaking so earnestly that she almost – but no. None of it fit with how they'd been interacting for the past six months. Did it?

Suddenly, an explanation dawned on her, and she had to ball her hands into fists to suppress the rage that swelled in her chest. "Mr. Fitz, I find it enormously insulting that you could think I would fall for such a - a heavy-handed ploy." She thrust her chin in the air. "I am not one to be wooed into submission like the other air-headed bimbos you sweet-talk."

"Oh Jemma, please believe me when I tell you there's only room in my heart for you."

She glared at him. "What a low opinion of me you must have.” Gathering momentum from the anger that coursed through her veins, she charged past him and through the door, at last, to safety.

“Thank you for dropping by," he called after her. "I'll make reservations for us tomorrow then, shall I?"

* * *

 

“You're late.” Will Daniels stood as she entered the bright restaurant.

“God I'm still trembling.” Simmons immediately drained the glass of scotch that had been waiting for her, then sat.

“Over last night?" Will hovered, looking oddly nervous. "I know what you mean. I couldn't sleep a wink.”

“Hmm?” She looked up at him. Will was flattening out his suit and adjusting his tie where he stood. He never fidgeted like this. It's one of the things she admired about him.

“Jemma, I've been doing some thinking and..." He dropped down to one knee. "I've decided I want you to marry me.”

All she could do was blink in surprise, still clutching her glass. “Really?”

He beamed up, waiting for more of a response. “Well?”

She opened her mouth, but could only furrow her eyebrows at him. “It's just – It's a bit surprising.” She discretely pulled him back up to the chair across from her before the rest of the patrons of the restaurant caught wind of what he was attempting.

“I thought you'd be knocked off your feet,” he said, more curious at her reaction than upset.

“Well, I mean, it was only last night you said we were through," she reminded him. "It's a bit of a roller coaster.”

“Forget about last night," he dismissed. "I knew I made a mistake the minute I left your apartment.”

She adjusted the cutlery on the table, wanting anything but to have this conversation at that particular moment. To her eternal gratitude, a waiter came by and dropped off some menus. Jemma caught his attention. “I'll have another one of these please,” she tapped her empty glass.

“You're certainly not as euphoric as I'd imagined.” Will was beginning to pout.

“Well you can't expect me to just change gears and turn on a dime,” she frowned. She was beginning to feel rather fed up with him. The waiter was mercifully quick, and dropped Jemma’s new drink on the table. She picked it up, but waited. Will was eyeing her skeptically.

“Have you changed your mind?”

“Hmm?" She took a sip. "No, of course I haven't.”

“You're being awfully distant for a woman that’s just been proposed to.” He crossed his arms, beginning to sulk. “I thought that's what you wanted. You haven't met someone else, have you?”

“No, no. It's not that,” Jemma sighed. “It's – To be honest, it's Fitz.”

“It's who?” Will gaped, taken aback for a moment. Something seemed to click into place in his mind though, and he chuckled. “Oh I see what you mean.” That only managed to irritate Jemma more for some reason. “He's guilty, isn't he?” Her expression must have given her away. Will nodded like he’d known it was Fitz all along.

“Please don't make me go into all the details.” She tried to keep her tone casual. “But I wonder if he's having some kind of a mental breakdown.”

“He may be realizing the consequences of his deeds.” Will continued to nod. “The Koenigs are closing in on him.”

“Could he have a split personality?” She spun the ice around in her glass, thinking of the sweet romantic man that she had stormed out on, so different than the prickly grump she sparred words with at the office each day.

“A lot of criminals have been known to play crafty games when it suited their purposes,” Will said knowingly. Had he always had this hint of pompousness to him, or was this a special case?

“I need another drink.” Jemma looked around for the waiter. When she caught Will’s expression, she chewed on her lip, debating with her conscience. “Will. If I tell you something, do you promise not to go off half-cocked?”

“Okay, but hurry,” he said, fitting his face back into a charming grin. “I've got champagne coming for us to celebrate.”

She winced and tried to ignore that statement, not ready to change tracks now that she was decided. She took a deep breath. “I found the jewels.”

“What?”

* * *

 

“And keep me apprised, will you? Thank you.” Will hung up the phone and came back to the table where Jemma sat, rubbing her arms anxiously. “The police have got him. Caught him red-handed at Grand Central Station trying to stuff the jewels in a locker. They're bringing him to the station now.” Will collapsed into his seat. “It's an open and shut case. Much as I cringe at the publicity, I'm glad we recovered all those jewels.”

“I don’t know, Will," Jemma ruminated. "It's clear there's so much more to this.”

“Not likely.” He patted her arm. “I've seen men driven to extremes before, being around big money. These guys that earn their living exposing all kinds of exotic schemes to defraud and rob people. Sometimes they start thinking that because they’re on the inside, they know why the schemes fail and that they won't make the same mistakes.”

“You're saying Fitz cracked from so many years of hard work?”

“He's feeling threatened and underappreciated,” Will explained simply. Simmons looked at her hands, trying not to think she might have had something to do with that. Will carried on, oblivious to her mood. “It may be he’s thinking it's time to get his share and get out. Had a guy named Peterson try the same thing with my father a couple years back. Of course, he's a house guest at Sing Sing these days, so...”

“Well I'm sure you know Fitz better than I do.” Simmons adjusted herself in her seat and sipped at her drink again.

“It'll resolve itself, darling. Don’t worry about it.”

But it felt like all she could do was worry about it. Somehow, this was not the happy ending that Jemma Simmons had pictured.


	5. Aint That A Kick in the Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
>   

Inspector Coulson had seen a lot in his day, but never in his wildest dreams did he expect to see the likes of Leo Fitz go so far down the rabbit hole as to reduce himself to the wreck of a man that had been sitting in his holding cell all night. A cat burglar. A jewel thief. A liar. This whole time, and on the very case he was investigating.

“I don't understand!” Fitz was like a trapped rat in his cell. “What's going on? What'd I do?” Clinging to the bars, disheveled, beady-eyed. The more he protested, the more embarrassed Coulson felt for him. He was caught red-handed, and all the witnesses pointed to the same story. It was no use.

“Yes, those are the ones.” Jemma Simmons had recognized the jewels almost reluctantly. “They were in his bookcase.”

“He tinkers a lot, experiments that aren’t cheap,” his co-workers confided. “He probably owes some loan-shark for a bundle.”

“Look, I was with him on Tuesday night till about midnight,” Raina Johnson, of all people, gave her statement. “Then suddenly he got a phone call and was like a different man.”

“If it was anyone else but Fitz, we wouldn't even be discussing this,” Billy Koenig pointed out. “He was caught red-handed!” His brother agreed.

“If he needed money, he could have come to me,” Will Daniels shook his head sadly, still in shock. “I would have listened. I warned him about his debts you know.”

The more people talked, the more undeniable it became that Fitz was the culprit. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, even Coulson would have had trouble believing it. He looked down at Fitz again and sighed. He’d always thought the kid was one of the good ones. Even considered offering him a position with the force if he thought he’d take it. Just goes to show you that you couldn't always trust your gut with people.

“Can't you see that it’s all a conspiracy?” Fitz insisted again as Coulson took out his keys. “They planted a shoe print and a fingerprint. They bribed the night watchman to forge my signature. It's simple!”

“Give it a rest, Fitz,” Coulson said, tired. “It all checks out. For your own sake, don’t keep on like this.”

“And this crazy rich girl who smokes opium makes up a story. And Simmons plants the jewels in my apartment.” Fitz muttered into his hands. He’d been going on like this all night, between bouts of silent shock. Must have thought he’d never get caught.

Coulson unlocked the cell door. “You know, there's a word for people who think everyone’s conspiring against them.”

“That's right,” Fitz nodded. “Perceptive.”

The inspector let out a long, heavy sigh and dragged the door open. “Fitz, you were holding the stolen goods in your hands. We caught you with them at Grand Central Station trying to stuff them in a locker!”

“You have any witnesses?” Fitz crossed his arms, remaining seated on the small plank bed in the corner.

“Yeah. Me!”

Fitz frowned. “And you're going to trust your word over mine?” Coulson raised an eyebrow and waited until Fitz let out a long groan, then finally stood and let Coulson lock the cuffs around his wrists. He figured all this talk was just a delusional ramble. He’d known Fitz too long to see him like this, though. It was tough.

“Let's get you over to the courthouse,” He nodded sorrowfully as he marched Fitz through the precinct. Hisses and glares were shot in their direction as they passed. Fitz had been liked, so it was that much more of a blow to the rest of the boys to see him like this. “Better get a lawyer, Fitz. Everyone’s shocked you could stoop so low.”

“Hey Coulson, have you had a look at these?” May walked by with an important looking folder. She narrowed her eyes when she saw Fitz accompanying him, and immediately took a step away. Wanting to avoid a scene, Coulson decided it was best to leave Fitz in his office while he took care of whatever paperwork May needed him to sign off on. He removed one of the cuffs from Fitz’s wrists and locked it back around the drainpipe in his drafty office.

“Sorry about this.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I'll make sure the arrangements are in order for your transfer. Stick around.”

He stalked off, careful to leave the door open so that the defeated-looking Fitz had a front-row seat to the justice system taking its course. Raina Johnson brushed his shoulder as he walked off to May’s desk.

* * *

 

“Well, well, well,” Raina drawled as soon as Inspector Coulson was out of hearing distance. “If it isn't Mr. Fast-talking investigator who got his hand caught in the cookie jar.”

Fitz struggled against the handcuffs for a minute, refusing to look up at her. She cocked her head to the side and leaned against the door frame, patiently waiting for him to grow accustomed to her presence.

“Did I really throw you out of bed?” He eventually sighed, head bowed, eyes darting up to her. He had stopped struggling now and just looked like a sad, lost little puppy. The sight almost tugged at her heart-strings.

“Why?” Raina lit herself a cigarette. “You planning on using the insanity defense?” He didn’t look like a head case, but she was far from an expert on the subject.

“Listen, I need a little time. You’ll help me, yeah?”

“Will I?”

“Yes.” He looked her dead in the eyes now, far more bold than she had ever seen him.

Intrigued, Raina sauntered into the room, exhaling a steady stream of white smoke in his direction. “And what makes you think that?”

“This is your kind of thing,” he shrugged, not breaking eye contact. “A suspected felon, a daring escape from police headquarters, broad daylight. You live for this.”

Raina stopped, just out of reach of the man, considering him. She tapped the ash from the tip of her cigarette before surprising herself by giving him a nearly imperceptible nod. She took another drag.

Relief washed over his every feature, and Fitz nodded his head to the desk at the side of the room. “There should be keys in that top drawer,” he said.

Raina grinned and shimmied her shoulders before slinking over to the desk. “I'm nervous,” she admitted, giggling. There was a first time for everything, she supposed.

“Hey Miss,” an officer called out to her as she crossed the room back over to where Leo Fitz stood locked to the drainpipe and his fate. “No one's allowed in there. You wanna come with me?”

Raina glanced at Fitz, shrugged regretfully, and continued on towards the officer, slow enough to make both men sweat. She had to allow herself a _little_ fun. At the last possible moment, she paused in the doorway for dramatic effect, shooting Fitz her most practiced mournful expression. Just as the officer reached out to take her arm, Raina ran forward like a schoolgirl and flung herself at the doomed investigator. Grasping the sides of his face, she pressed her lips to his in a big, sloppy kiss that had him clutching to the drainpipe to remain standing. Then, satisfied, Raina adjusted her shirt, brushed the hair out of her face and turned on her heel back towards the gobsmacked officer with a grin.

When he was alone and had finally recovered his wits, Fitz spat the key out into his palm. The girl was resourceful; he’d give her that. Not wasting a moment, Fitz unlocked the cuffs and let himself out the window behind Coulson’s desk.

* * *

 

“Father and I are working out the details of the prenuptial agreement now,” Will explained. “The press will have a field day if it gets out that I’m marrying an employee without so much as a binding document to protect the company. That's why everything has to be securely in place before we announce the engagement…” Daniels stopped talking. Jemma didn’t appear to be listening. “Where are you?”

“Do you think he's really guilty?” She asked, chin resting thoughtfully in her hand.

“Is _that_ what you're thinking about?”

“I can't shake this uneasy feeling,” Jemma frowned, sitting up straight in her armchair.

“What, that he's innocent?” Will snorted. “The man was caught at the scene of the crime, Jemma. You’re the one that found the stolen jewels in his place.”

“Believe me, I know how it sounds,” she dropped her hand, drumming her fingers thoughtfully against the plush of the chair’s arm. “It just doesn't _feel_ right,” she said, not entirely sure how to explain what she was thinking. “I don't see that snoopy little termite as a romantic jewel thief,” she tried.

“Well I'd hardly call breaking the law _romantic_ .” Will crossed his arms. The telephone rang in the foyer, and Daniels stood to go answer it.

“I didn't mean it that way.” She rolled her eyes.

“Well what did you mean? The evidence against him is overwhelming.”

“I don't know what I mean anymore,” she sighed, shaking her head.

Will picked up the phone. “Hello? Yes. Yes he is. Hold on.” He put a hand over the receiver and craned his head towards Jemma. “It's Ms Morse.” She nodded, returning her chin to its spot, propped against her curled fist.

“Thank you. Hello? No! Really? Oh- how? Okay. Yes, I certainly will.” Will slammed the phone down and shook his head furiously. “Well,” he huffed. “If you had any doubts about his culpability, this should allay them.” He extended his arms out in frustration. “Fitz escaped!”

“He did?”

“Don’t sound so pleased about it,” he shot at her. “Slipped right out of the handcuffs and leaped across to the building next door.”

“ _Leo_ Fitz?” Jemma leaned forward, not sure she had heard correctly.

“Like a common burglar,” Will shook his head. “I guess none of us really knew him at all. I have to go down to police headquarters. It looks like your little termite ate his way out.” He paced over to the door, then back to pick up his coat. Jemma stood to see him out, but Daniels was gone before he could even give her a peck on the cheek.

Jemma let out a long sigh and wandered over to the window. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about the thought of Fitz escaping. She certainly didn’t believe he was guilty, but she had no sound proof to even offer herself. There was a movement behind the window curtain, and she inched forward to see what it could be. A hand reached out suddenly and attached itself over her mouth.

“Please resist the temptation to scream!” Leo Fitz whispered, the rest of him slipping easily through her open window and pressing up against her.

Jemma’s eyes went wide and as soon as she gathered her wits, she pushed him away. “What the _hell_ are you doing here, you dishonest little jewel thief?” she spat.

“No, I'm not a thief! I'm a _suspect_ ,” he said, holding his hands up to her. “It's completely different. I'm a very promising suspect, sure, but I swear I didn't do it!”

“Oh, well that eases my mind completely then.” Jemma rolled her eyes, marching over to the telephone.

“Please, don’t! Not yet. I just need time to prove I’m innocent,” he said, leaping into her path. “Otherwise they're gonna lock me up in a concrete building, and you'll only be able to insult me on visiting days.”

She placed her hands on her hips. “Why did you come here?” She really hoped his explanation would be worth the heart attack he’d nearly given her, slipping through her window like that.

“Because I have no one else to turn to,” he said simply. “And everybody knows how much you hate me, so no one will look for me here.” Jemma tipped her head to the side, admitting that his reasoning wasn’t half bad. He took a step towards her, and she stepped back. “I just need a place to sleep. Please,” he begged, eyeing her sofa. “I'm exhausted. I’ll be out of your hair first thing in the morning, I swear.”

“You can't sleep here,” she said, keeping her distance. “I couldn't afford the fumigating bills!”

But Fitz had already slipped over to her sofa and was sinking in. Realizing she still hadn’t done anything to really stop the known felon, Jemma shook her head to regain her wits, again, and marched over to the telephone.

“If you want to call the police, call the police.” Fitz lifted an arm sleepily, his voice already a sludgy murmur. “I don't care. Need to sleep. Feels like I’ve been up for a week...”

Jemma glared and stuck her finger into the correct slot of the phone’s dial pad, rotating the numbers for the police. As she glared, though, Fitz began to snore. Her forehead creased and she pressed her lips firmly together. That feeling in her gut welled up again, and before she knew what she was doing, Jemma had placed the receiver back down, disconnecting the line.

She crossed her arms, considering his sleeping form. He didn’t look nearly so menacing as everyone was going on about. In fact, lying there he could even pass as quite handsome - if a bit pasty. Either way, Jemma knew instinctively that Fitz couldn’t be the thief. There was definitely something about him that set her on edge, but it wasn’t dangerous, and it wasn’t even nearly as ugly and competitive as when she’d first exchanged barbs with him six months ago. Jemma went to the linen closet and she pulled out a blanket, draping it lightly over him before turning out the light.

It had to be around midnight when the phone rang, waking Jemma with a jolt. Regaining her faculties quickly as ever, she was pleased she’d had the extra telephone installed next to her bed. She hated the thought of tip-toeing past Fitz in her night-clothes. It would be far too intimate to be so close to him like that.

“Hello?” she said as pleasantly as the late hour warranted.

“Miss Simmons?”

“Yes, speaking,” she pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead, wondering who on earth could be calling at such an hour.

“ _Marmoset_ …”

* * *

 

The sound of a door slamming brought Fitz out of his fitful sleep. Grumbling, he looked at his watch. It was well past one in the morning, either too early or too late for anyone to be roaming about. He stood carefully, searching about him for something he could use to defend himself. All he could find was that heavy book with the suggestive cover. Shrugging, he picked it up. It would do. He slunk towards the front hallway and waited around the corner in the inky shadows. Whoever was there was rummaging in the front hall desk, and he was ready for them.

Suddenly, the lights switched on, nearly blinding him.

“ _Simmons_?!” He would have screamed with fright if he’d been able to direct air through his lungs.

“Fitz!” she exclaimed, a smile spreading over her face when she saw him.

He stooped over, dropping the book to the floor, trying to catch his breath. “What the _hell_ are you -” He looked up and realized that beneath her own trench coat, she was wearing nothing but a nightie. Had she just gone out like that? “Er, what's the matter? Can't sleep?”

“No,” she beamed, moving over to him, resting a soft hand against his arm. “I've had the strangest dreams.”

“That's funny,” he brushed her off when she tried to help him stand upright. “I've had some crazy dreams myself lately.” He sniffed.

Her face followed him as he moved to the side, putting some distance between them. “I dreamed that we were finally together.”

“Really. You and Daniels?” He rolled his eyes, praying that she would neither go into detail, nor see the book he had dropped to the ground. “Bit of a hog face on that one, but whatever. To each their own.”

“You misunderstand me,” Jemma giggled, tilting her head to the side. “I dreamed you and I finally wound up together.”

“You and _me_?” Fitz motioned between them, gaping, then snorted. “Please! I’ve had a long day, Simmons. Can we do this whole song and dance once the sun’s come up? I’m beyond tired.”

He moved back into the living room, ready to sink back into the sofa, when she put herself in his path. Suddenly, she was too close. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was too close. “From the first minute I met you, Leo, a voice inside me said I finally found what I'd been searching for my whole life.”

“Yeah, and what's that?” He stepped back nervously, tripping over the book. “A roach, a vermin, a little inchworm?”

She shook her head, letting her hair bounce freely over her shoulders. “I knew that sooner or later, you and I would wind up in each other's arms.” She slipped her coat slowly over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor at her feet. Fitz gulped.

Her pajamas were far from the skimpiest he had seen in his time, but she somehow managed to wear them in a way that set his mind doing back flips. He was seeing Jemma Simmons in her night dress, and she looked good. Jemma reached out to close the distance between them, and at her smoldering touch, Fitz leaped away like he’d been burnt. Though, with the dreamy look of lust clouding her eyes, he almost stopped to wonder what sort of idiot he was being. He stumbled. “What’s come over you?”

“You, Leopold Fitz,” she replied, watching him almost hungrily beneath her full eyelashes. “Don’t you feel it too? Why should we deny ourselves any longer?” She moved closer, and her foot brushed against the thick novel he’d dropped to the floor. She grinned mischievously and as she stooped to pick it up, Fitz brought his fingers up into his hair, spinning on the spot, searching for any method of escape from whatever was about to happen.

To his shock, she giggled. Jemma Simmons looked down at the book cover, bit her lip, and giggled. “Fitz.” Her eyes zeroed in on his, smouldering. She tossed the book to the floor again and rushed towards him. “My passion for you is so intense, it scares me.” Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, she pressed a warm hand against the side of his face. “Can't you see I've submerged it under a mask of hostile acts and cruel words?”

“Oh, is that what you were doing?” he asked nervously. Was she loosening his tie? “I’d always just assumed you enjoyed picturing the various ways I could get crushed to death.”

“I was merely protecting myself.” Her lips brushed the words against the skin of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. Before he could back any further away, her hot lips were pressed against his. He was momentarily overcome with how soft they were, how they tasted like honey. When her nimble hands moved up and began to undo the buttons of his shirt, he jumped back and clutched at her wrists to keep them from wandering further.

“Simmons-!”

“Call me Jemma.” She breathed, cheeks flushed with passion.

“Look, Jemma,” he transferred her wrists to one hand so that he could attempt to fix his shirt and tie with the other, “I hate to be a killjoy, believe me, but if this is some kind of scheme to take advantage, it's not very subtle.” She kissed him again, and Fitz lost his train of thought, dropping her wrists.

“You're the man I'm going to marry,” she murmured against his cheek as her hands carried on their task of freeing him from his shirt. “I've known it since the first moment I laid eyes on you.” She pressed her lips to his jaw, moving them down towards his collarbone. He was finding it very difficult to keep track of what was going on.

“Marry me? But I’m just a wormy little cockroach-” Her mouth found his again, and she pushed him down to the sofa. She buried her hands in his curls, brushing her fingertips down his now bare chest as she thrust her tongue into his mouth. When her hands grasped hold of his belt, Fitz found his senses again and scrambled out from beneath her.

“Make love to me,” she pleaded, reaching out to him.

Fitz looked down at her, wide-eyed. “ _What?_ ”

“Please. You must feel it too. We’re right together, you and I. This is how it’s meant to be.” Her eyelids fluttered with passion. “I often imagine what it would be like if you took me in your arms and-”

“Okay, hold it right there!” He held a hand out to keep her at arm’s length. “This is not the same Jemma Simmons that insults me every day at the office!”

“It is.” She nodded, looking up at him with sparkling eyes. “I’ve just never had the courage to tell you how I truly felt. Don’t you understand how frustrating that can be?”

Fitz opened his mouth and paused. Was she on to something? Was that feeling that welled up at the mere sight of her, not actually _hate_ but something deeper, something far more terrifying?

“What are you thinking?” She rested her cheek on the back of the sofa, eyes fluttering up at him again.

“I'm thinking…” He hesitated. He was so entirely unsure of how he’d found himself in this situation, and he wasn’t entirely sure that it was a bad one to have found himself in after all. “I’m thinking it's a pity that we hate each other.” He eased forward and perched himself at the edge of the sofa next to her, tentatively. “By now we could have had a large family and a small cottage back home.” He lifted her hands in his, and brought her fingertips to his lips as she smiled up at him with longing.

“Oh, Fitz!” she sighed.

“Jemma,” he murmured and cupped her cheek in his hand, pulling her in to capture her supple lips with his own.

At the last second, she dropped her head to the side, away from him, resting her forehead against his shoulder. “Oh Fitz, I’m so tired. I just can't stay awake...” She curled her body around his and nestled her head into the crook of his neck. “I just need to rest my head on your shoulder here...”

“Easy, ah...” When she began to snore softly, Fitz bounced his shoulder to see if she’d really fallen asleep so suddenly. “Jemma? Simmons?” Her only response was to snort as her head lolled to the side. Fitz blinked.

This whole day had been so strange, he couldn’t have expected any less. It was confusing. Looking at her now, it was impossible not to get drawn in, to look back over their every interaction in an entirely new light. The growing heat between them had always been there, but it he had to admit that it had become unbearable lately. But what had suddenly given her the courage to do something about it? He reached over past the telephone, careful not to disturb her, and turned the lamp off, allowing the darkness to fill the night.

Funny that she’d been the first to figure it out - he was the investigator. How long had she known? He lay down on the sofa next to her, and she curled herself comfortably against him. Allowing himself a long contented sigh, he wrapped an arm around her. Yes. He could definitely see a life where they bickered happily into the night. At least one of them had figured it out before it was too late. Together they could fix the mess he’d somehow landed in. Together they could do anything.


	6. The Tender Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
>   

Fitz stared out the window and marvelled at how beautiful the sunrise was. Jemma was still fast asleep against him. It was amazing how much had changed in such a short time. To think, just yesterday they were exchanging barbs as they’d done for the past six months. It hadn’t even occurred to them what was simmering beneath the surface. Now he was lying next to her beautiful form, and the sunlight caught in her hair. Fitz couldn’t help but stroke it out of her face. It was far silkier than he had imagined it being.  She looked so calm and peaceful resting there. He knew he would never grow tired of this view.

Who knew what this day would bring? He was feeling uncharacteristically optimistic. With Jemma by his side, he was sure they could both figure out a way to have the charges against him dropped.

As his fingers brushed against her hair again, Jemma’s eyelids fluttered open, a soft smile playing at her lips. He grinned as her eyes grew accustomed to the light and focused in on him.

“Good morning sweetheart,” he leaned over and brushed a gentle kiss against her nose.

“Sweetheart?” Jemma licked her lips sleepily for a moment. Then she sat bolt upright, knocking Fitz to the floor in surprise. “What’s going on?” she cried.

“It’s okay,” he muttered, collecting himself from the floor. Stooped on one knee, he peered over the edge of the couch where Jemma was, neck craned and eyes wide with concern. He smiled. “I stayed awake all last night thinking about all those things you said,” Fitz explained gently, reaching for her hands. “It all struck a very deep chord with me.” She was just a little too far out of his reach and he faltered again, hands clasping air.

“ _What_ struck a chord with you?” She removed herself from the sofa then, still looking down at him with a perplexed expression.

“There were so many times when we were arguing in the office,” Fitz said, standing and tucking his hands sheepishly into his pockets. “I just had a feeling that down deep, underneath it all, there was something more there.”

“More than…?” She looked down at what she was wearing, then, and with wide eyes, she folded her arms like a shield over her chest. “What sort of cruel joke is this?”

“Now I know last night didn’t go the way you planned,” he said, reciting the whole speech he’d had all night to prepare. “But you have to admit that you caught me a little off guard. Tonight I’ll pull out all the stops. I’ll make dinner, then we can dedicate the whole evening just to us.”

“Us?” Jemma stared up at him with big, round, still admittedly confused eyes. He wasn’t explaining himself properly. Unable to think of the right way to fit what he was feeling into words, Fitz closed the distance between them with one long stride and kissed her like he’d wished he had the night before.

Jemma’s eyes fluttered shut, leaning in to him, letting his lips brush hungrily against hers. Then, all of a sudden, she pushed him away. “Fitz!” She tried to catch her breath. “What’s the big idea?”

“Is something wrong? We can make love now if you’d prefer!” He reached for her again, but she backed away, holding her arms out to keep the distance between them.

“ _Make love?!_ What are you delusional? You’re the last person I’d want to… to… make _love_ to!”

“But Jemma, last night-”

“Yeah, well, for some reason I’m having trouble remembering last night,” she said, shaking her finger at him. “I do know you came in here and passed out and-”

The morning paper had a schedule that the local paper boy was very strict at adhering to. Despite the early hours, he relied on the tips he garnered from the little apartments on the block. He took pride in knowing when to knock on which door, and when to take a more subtle approach. This particular morning, something told him that he was best to steer clear of the normally pleasant Miss Simmons in apartment 6B. Perhaps it was the lingering hangover he had developed from a rowdy night with his mates. Perhaps it was the sounds of bickering that were growing in volume as he marched through the corridor with his trolley. Either way, he came to the decision that it was best for all involved to simply slip the morning paper through her mail slot, foregoing his typically generous tip for one day.  

As the newspaper landed on the parquet flooring on the other side of the door, the bickering came to an abrupt halt. Simmons and Fitz turned their heads toward it, startled out of their discussion. The silence stretched on as they both read the headline.

**_Elusive Jewel Thief Leo Fitz Strikes Again!_ **

Both Fitz and Jemma’s eyes grew wide, and their heads snapped back to each other. He gaped dumbly, trying not to panic. She covered her mouth, pointing at him.

“N-Now hold on a minute,” he finally managed to say, holding his hands out desperately.

“You did it again!” She said between her fingers. “ _That’s_ why you escaped from the police!” Her hands slid up the back of her neck and she began to pace, fitting her mind around a plausible explanation. “Not to try to prove your innocence, but because you had unfinished business!”

“What kind of business?” he plead. “I was here with you!”

“But I was asleep,” she pointed out. “You could have easily awakened, robbed those people and then come back. You just used this as a - a safe haven!”

“Sure, I could have done all that,” he shrugged. “But I didn't! I was with _you_ , and you were very insistent that we make love!”

“You are feeding me the wrong lie, buster!” Jemma whirled around, putting her hands on her hips. “Why would I want to make love to you when I'm marrying Will Daniels?”

“You’re what?” Fitz staggered to a stop. It was as though all the air had rushed from his lungs as he processed what she’d just said.

“Yes,” she insisted, quietly. “We've set a spring date. Just as soon as the prenuptial agreement is approved.” She waited for a response from him, but when none came, she thrust her chin in the air and stepped closer. “Besides, I wouldn’t make love to _you_ if we were the only two people on the planet!” She stood in front of him.

Fitz looked her up and down, his face contorting, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. “Well don’t worry, it wouldn’t come to that.” He jabbed a finger in the air at her. “Ten minutes alone with you and we’d both kill each other.”

“I'm going to take a shower,” Jemma snapped. “And believe me, that is _not_ an invitation. If you're still here when I get out, I'm calling the police!” She turned on her heel, then slammed the bathroom door behind her.

“Geez, you drop your guard for one minute,” Fitz said angrily, more to himself, if he was being honest. “Careful in the water,” he called after her. “Don’t slip and fall, fracturing your skull and drowning in a pool of your own filth!”

There was no response, so Fitz sighed and grabbed his coat. Just in front of the door, he caught something glinting in the light, and he stooped to pick it up. It was an expensive jeweled earring. Fitz raised an eyebrow at it and sniffed. Pretty snazzy for an office worker. “Boy, Daniels must really love you in an extravagant way,” he muttered under his breath. “That prenup better be worth the wait.” Fitz pocketed the earring and let himself out.

When she heard the door shut, Jemma leaned her head back against the bathroom door and let out a heavy, shaking breath. The hot water began steaming up the bathroom. Dragging her hands over her face, she did her best to shake the uneasy feeling that had settled in her chest. Her fingers stopped at her lips. The ghost of his kiss was still there… It was so unlikely. So illogical. Shaking her head, Jemma stepped into the shower, letting the water rush over her. It didn't help.

* * *

A heavy fog had settled in between the buildings of New York. Silhouettes of people passed through the streets like ghosts in the early morning haze. Fitz, once again, was one of them. With nowhere left to go, feeling like all his options were turning in on him, he stumbled through the streets like a man who’d lost it all. Because - his situation being what it was - hadn’t he?

He wasn’t sure how he found himself at this one particular corner, but when the ripe-smelling lump of cloth stirred on the bench, he realized with a start that he recognized it.

“Fitz, that you?” Hunter lifted his head, careful to make it look like he was still dozing fitfully on the street bench.

“Hunter?” Fitz squinted through the misty air.

“Fitz, you’re hotter than a pickle!” Hunter sat up, making room for Fitz to slide next to him.

“Hot? The New York City Police want to give me a lifetime achievement award.” Fitz pulled his hat off and held it loosely between his knees, sighing down at the damp pavement. A meeting with Hunter never pulled much attention, but he couldn’t bring himself to care if he was seen. Let them find him like this.

“Listen, I got a name keeps cropping up,” Hunter whispered. “John Garrett mean anything to you?”

Fitz shook his head. “Zero. John Garret?” He tried the name out on his tongue. “Nope. Nothing to me. Does it even matter anymore?”

“I dunno. Don’t mean a thing to me either,” Hunter shrugged, “but it’s come up twice!”

“John Garret?”

“Yeah yeah yeah. There’s no police record. Could mean anything.”

Fitz shook his head slowly, trying to will himself to become invested in the thrill of the hunt again. Even if he had all his resources back at the office, it would take too long to follow such a long lead. “It’s no use, Hunter, I can’t get a break no matter what I do.” Fitz dropped his face into his hands. “Don’t waste any more time on this. It’s a done deal. The cops will be by any minute to lock me up and throw away the key.”

“Well before you get dramatic about it,” Hunter smirked, “there’s something else.” He nudged his friend, ignoring his rather embarrassing display of self-pity. “Stick your hand in the cup.”

Fitz scraped his hands down his face. “In the cup?”

“In the cup, yeah.” Hunter pushed the cup closer to Fitz, who tentatively lowered his hands into the grimy plastic.

“Thirty-eight cents and a wad of paper.” Fitz shrugged at the contents of his palm in resignation. “Oh, and somebody threw their gum away in your business establishment.”

“Open the wad of paper.” Hunter rolled his eyes.

“Why?”

“It’s a clue!”

“What kind of clue?”

“From last night’s heist.” Hunter took his cup back. “The Koenigs found it on the property on the driveway.”

Fitz unwrapped the wad of paper, and an expensive jewelled earring slipped out onto his lap. He picked it up to examine it, and his breath caught in his throat. “Hunter, what-”

“The burglar dropped it getting away.” Hunter grinned, waggling his eyebrows triumphantly.

“How’d you get it?”

“Well I got a friend on the inside, so to speak.” He crossed his hands behind his head, leaning back on the bench. “I thought maybe you’d want it.”

“Hunter, this is serious grand larceny!”

“Hey, anything for a pal. By the look on your face, it must have helped you.”

Fitz dropped the earring back in the cup, looking tired and dejected, and he put his hat back on his head. “Three words,” Fitz sighed. “Chercher la femme.” Fitz stood again, slowly, begrudgingly spurred into action. “You know what that means, Hunter?”

“What?”

“Find the woman.”

“There’s a woman?”

“Well. At first I thought so,” Fitz said quietly. “Then I didn’t.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the earring he’d found on Simmons’ floor just that morning. It was identical. “Now I think I got her.”

* * *

Mack looked over to the empty office that should contain a pacing, muttering Fitz. He took another sip of his coffee and bowed his head. “You work next to a person for years,” Mack sighed. “I guess the temptation was just too great.”

“It’s not Fitz!” Daisy insisted for the hundredth time. “It doesn’t make sense!”

“Daisy, I don’t think that any of us expected it, but they have proof,” Mack shrugged. “You heard Simmons found the jewels sitting in his apartment.”

“Yeah and how he fought the cops when they found him at Grand Central,” Trip added. “All I’m saying is, you don’t run from the police if you’re innocent.”

“But this is Fitz we’re talking about,” Daisy said. “The man gets nervous fighting a parking ticket.”

“Well it sure took some nerve to strike twice,” Mack pointed out.

Trip nodded his agreement. “Fitz deserves credit for that. He turned out to be a pretty gutsy guy in the end.”

The phone rang, and Daisy answered quickly, happy for the distraction. “Hello?” She sat up straight. “Fitz!” she hissed into the receiver, waving the other men over. “Where are you?”

“Never mind where I am,” he said quickly, his voice crackling on the other end. “I’ve got to get up to the office. I think there’s more people involved in this thing. I think that Simmons is behind it. Does the name John Garrett mean anything to you?”

“No.”

“I have to check through the Koenigs’ report. Can you get me into Simmons’ desk?”

Fitz was waiting for them by the back door in a terrible disguise. Round glasses and a fake mustache, his collar pulled up almost to his nose. Daisy ushered him in, looking around nervously. “Quick, Simmons is out meeting her sister for lunch,” she hissed.

Fitz rolled his eyes, but followed as quickly and quietly as he could. It was easy work getting into her office and sneaking the report back to his. They shut the door and Mack stood, watching over with his arms crossed as Fitz, Daisy and Trip read the report.

“There’s no question about it,” Fitz shook his head. “Simmons is involved in this thing up to her neck!”

“I don’t know Fitz,” Daisy said. “There’s not much incriminating evidence here.”

“You sure you’re not just letting your feelings for her colour your judgement?” Mack sniffed.

“It’s nothing to do with my _feelings_ for her!” Fitz spluttered. “It’s the only thing that makes any sense.” Mack rolled his eyes and turned back to face the door.

“Fitz, don’t stoop lower by dragging Simmons into this,” Trip said. “There’s only so much of a limb we can go out on here for you.”

“I’m not _dragging_ her into this!” Fitz scoffed. “Listen, I went over to her place last night, because I figured no one would look for me there.” He put the report down, frustrated that it was far too vague. “In the middle of the night I heard a noise, and there she was putting her coat away. At first I figured she couldn’t sleep and went for a midnight stroll or something. But she’d probably just done the latest heist, and she was coming back, and I caught her!”

“I dunno Fitz…” Trip shook his head.

“Then she started to act very peculiar,” Fitz shook his finger, trying to piece together a reasonable explanation for how he’d been so taken in. “She must have thought she was trapped, so she started seducing me with her feminine wiles!”

Daisy tried to cover her smile. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning all of a sudden I’m _handsome_ , I’m _wonderful_ and she can’t take her hands off me,” Fitz tried to explain with an unaffected air. “Does that sound like Jemma Simmons to you? Or is that a schemer trying to play me for a sucker?”

Trip looked at Daisy, a grin spreading across his face too. “Actually, it sounds like that Hypnosis show by Garret the Clairvoyant.”

“That’s right. That’s the night of the first robbery!” Daisy snapped. “I dunno Fitz, she must have some real feelings for you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. She definitely hates me.” He rubbed at his eyebrows. “Hold on… what’s that name you said? The magician at the Rainbow Room who I’ve completely repressed?”

“Garrett. Garrett the Clairvoyant. The Jade Monkey.”

Fitz tipped his head to the side, feeling the tug of intrigue begin to sink its teeth into him again. “What is his full name?”

“Garret. Johnathan Garrett.”

Fitz dropped his mouth open, eyes bugging out. “I’m… just theorizing... on an incredible sequence of events…”

Mack squinted. “You look like my Uncle Jerry right after the United Parcel Truck hit him.”

“What happened?” Fitz asked, whirling to face the others. “I know you described this to me before, but what actually happened? They brought me on stage…”

“-And put you into a trance,” Mack said, keeping his arms folded to his chest.

“Pretty easily, too, despite you resisting,” Daisy giggled.

“Right. Yes.” Fitz waved of. “And Simmons. She was with me… And then?”

“Then he woke you in a post-hypnotic state with a word that would put you back under again,” Trip explained.

“Capuchin!” Daisy grinned. “Yeah, and then you started making...” Fitz’s face had gone immediately  slack. “Fitz? Fitz!” She snapped at him.

“Yes?” He smiled at her pleasantly. Daisy backed away, a little freaked out.

“Hey, you okay man?”

“I’m fine, Antoine.” Fitz folded his hands in front of him politely. “How is your aging mother?”

Trip and Daisy looked at each other, then at Mack. They all looked back at Fitz, examining his altogether too-pleasant demeanour. “Looks like he was never released from the key word,” Mack observed.

“Wake him up, Trip, this is freaky!” Daisy slapped at the man’s arm. “He’s far too… cheerful.” She shook herself. “It’s not right.”

“Relax! This stuff’s right up my alley.” Trip pushed his shirtsleeves up and stood in front of Fitz. “Alright. Now when I snap my fingers, you will awaken. Ah… You’ll have no memory of what has just occurred, is that clear to you?”

“Yes!” Fitz beamed.

“Okay.” Trip nodded. “ Three… Two…” He snapped his fingers.

“So the guy gets me on stage,” Fitz carried on as though nothing had happened. “Then what? What took place after that?”

“Woah,” Mack exclaimed. “That’s messed up.”

“Hold on. I have an idea.” Daisy grabbed hold of Fitz’s shoulders, ignoring his irritated protests, and spun him to face her. “Capuchin!” Fitz’ features went slack again, and Daisy waved a hand in front of his face. “What a sense of power...” She raised her eyebrows as Fitz smiled at her in a daze. “Trip, could you get him to remember everything?”

“Yeah, absolutely!” Trip nodded. “We should probably set him loose from the trance while I’m at it,” he pointed out. Daisy shrugged in agreement, and Trip turned Fitz to face him. “Now Fitz, when I snap my fingers, you will awaken,” he said smoothly. “Your memory will be clear. Crystal clear. All the events of the past week will come to you vividly and with no distraction.” He nodded. “You’ll also be completely freed from your trance, and the mention of the word Capuchin will have absolutely no meaning to you. It will not put you back into your hypnotic state. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Antoine, I understand perfectly.”

“Okay.” Trip cracked his knuckles then held his fingers in position before Fitz’s face. “One… you’re coming out of it.” He glanced at Daisy. “Two… your memories of the past week are coming back. Three, you’re fully awake and…” Trip snapped his fingers.

Fitz’s mouth dropped open like a ton of bricks and he stumbled backwards as the memories of the past week came flooding back to him.  “ _I_ took the jewels!” He gaped, covering his mouth. “The Johnson jewels and the Stark – I went over and disabled the systems like he asked!” Mack stood away from the wall then as Fitz began to pace around the room. “Of course, it’s so simple! And then he probably tried to get me for the last one, but couldn’t get me, so he – that last heist was her!”

Daisy looked from Fitz to Mack to Trip, concern etched in her features. “What was Simmons’ keyword?”

* * *

“ _Marmoset._ ”

Simmons stood alone in her apartment, telephone to her ear. She listened for a minute, then returned the receiver, wrote out an address, and tucked a brown paper package under her arm.  A flash of lightning split the night sky, the buzz of a looming rain storm crackling through the air as she drove off into the night.

Across town, John Garrett returned his watch to his pocket. He was growing impatient. With a self-satisfied smirk, he fed the bullets into his gun, one by one, snapping the barrel back into place.


	7. Bang Bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
>   

Fitz rushed into her apartment. “Miss Simmons?” He’d had an awful sense of foreboding going up the stairs, but looking around now, everything was the same. Almost eerily so. He searched each room frantically, not the least concerned that his drenched coat was dripping rain water all over her lovely things. There was no one there to complain about it. “Jemma!”

The whole place was dark and cold like a house that had been recently vacated. Even the comfortable sofa felt hard and wooden as he sagged into it to collect his thoughts. In an attempt to get his racing heart under control, he buried his head in his hands and took a long breath. There was rain in his collar and he needed a sandwich. There was no reason to be afraid. She was probably just out at the corner store picking up milk or something. Maybe she was working late. Maybe she was with Will _bloody_ Daniels again.  

The wind took the rain then, and threw it sideways against the window, rattling the panels like a band of angry monkeys threatening to get in.

That sick feeling in Fitz’s stomach had the distinct tang of worry. There was only one thing to do. He marched over to the phone. Before he could talk himself out of what he knew to be an extremely stupid idea, he picked up the receiver and dialed Daniels' home number. It rang once. Twice. He was just about ready to slam the receiver back down when there was an answer.  

“Hello,” came Daniels’ voice, sultry and smooth. Fitz scowled. With no response on the other end, Daniels coughed. “Jemma? Baby is that you?” Fitz rolled his eyes, but they landed on a sheet of scrap paper on the desk next to the phone. “Listen, I haven’t heard from you in a while and I just want to make sure you’re not still-” Fitz hung up. Reaching out a trembling hand, he picked up the slip of paper. He smoothed it out and took a few steadying breaths as he read the neat handwriting etched into it. He picked up the phone again.   

“Hello, New York City Police department?” he said gruffly. “This is notorious jewel thief Leopold Fitz calling. I'd like to report some stolen jewels at 555 Main street.”  

* * *

Rain whipped against the car as it drove slowly into the open garage of the warehouse. Pools of water streamed off of it and onto the pavement when the car rolled to a stop. The rain outside orchestrated a hollow cacophony of drums as it beat down against the metal walls of the warehouse that did little to keep the rain from gusting in. The smell of damp asphalt hung in the air and thunder rolled through the sky.

John Garrett grinned to himself as Miss Simmons exited the car mechanically, brown paper package in her grasp. It had been a lot of work, and the anticipation of it all was almost too much to bear at times, but looking hungrily at the package full of precious jewels now, Garrett knew the whole charade and weeks of preparation had been worth it. She approached him in her trance.

“Jemma Simmons." His grin was fox-like and smug. "The Jade Monkey welcomes you. You have the package, I see.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Wonderful work my dear!" He rubbed his hands together greedily, but paused, not quite ready for it to be over just yet. He found the anticipation was almost more exhilarating than the payout at times. Almost. Either way, he let her hold onto the package a few moments longer. She simply stood and waited patiently for him to give further instruction, not even blinking.

God he would miss this heady rush of control. None of his previous volunteers had been quite so willing or resourceful as Miss Simmons and Mr Fitz had been. But all good things must come to an end eventually. It was time to get his and get out, as the saying went, before the fuzz caught wind of his little scheme.

Crossing state lines tended to freeze any trail he left behind, and this time would be no different. He would be back, though. The thrill and the score of the Big Apple was a hard habit to kick. He just needed one last thing...

"You heard about the jewels that were confiscated by the local precinct?" he asked her.

“Yes,” she replied simply.

"I need you to retrieve them for me as well.” He knew he was pushing his luck, but it was a calculated risk. The payoff would be worth it. “Take this pistol with you, and use it if you run into any trouble." He slipped the newly loaded gun to her. "Do you understand?"

"Yes." She held the gun expertly, turning the safety on and tucking it into her coat pocket out of sight. Boy, she was full of surprises. Not that he would have taken full advantage of her skills with firearms unless absolutely necessary. It was all too inelegant for his style. This time would be necessary.

"You will bring all of the Johnson and Stark jewels back to me here in one hour,” he explained. “Then return home and fall into a wonderful sleep. You will awake cheerful, but you will remember nothing of these events. In fact, upon waking, you will have no memory of any of this ever. Is that clear?”

She opened her mouth to confirm, but a loud bungling crash swallowed her words. Garrett whirled towards the sound. Miss Simmons stayed stock still, unaffected. Garrett narrowed his eyes. It was none other than Leo Fitz, stumbling out from behind a stack of crates he had accidentally pushed over in his botched attempt at stealth. It was a wonder the man had got so far as a faux burglar.

“Ah, sorry. Just passing through!" Fitz said, clambering out from his now defunct hiding spot. "Thought I’d say hello. Check in on the burgling.”

“Leopold Fitz! Well isn't this a pleasant surprise?” Garrett lifted his fingers, ready to snap and have the complete FitzSimmons set working together for his final task.

"I wouldn’t bother, Garret.” Fitz tapped the side of his head. "Your little mind tricks won't work on me anymore. The police are already on their way."

"Are they?" Garrett smirked. He had to admit, the kid was even more resourceful than he first thought. "How convenient of them.” Ever the one for improvisation, Garrett turned his wolfish grin away from the younger man, not missing a beat. “Miss Simmons, a change of plans. Please detain Mr. Fitz for the police when they arrive. I believe your search for the confiscated jewels will be much easier now that the entire local precinct is preparing to apprehend the notorious cat burglar!"

Fitz’s eyes widened. "No no no, hold on Jemma!" He held his hands out as she moved obediently towards him, bewildered that his master plan had gone south so quick. Garret almost felt sorry for him.  "Ah," Fitz floundered for a moment, snapping his fingers at her. "You will not go to the police station and you will not detain me!”

Garrett began to roll his eyes at the man’s feeble attempt, when Miss Simmons stopped where she was, half-way between both men. The hypnotist frowned and cocked his head, taking a step towards her. “Miss Simmons, do not listen to him. The Jade Monkey is in need of your compliance.”

“Don’t listen to me? Don’t listen to _him_!” Fitz cried. “He’s the one using us both like puppets, happy for us to take the fall for his dastardly deeds!” He took a step towards her too as she tilted her head ever so slightly. She blinked once. “Simmons, Jemma, please. It’s me. You inexplicably trust me, remember? The pasty little cockroach? Just hand me the package and we can all go home and forget this whole thing ever happened.”

Jemma lifted her hands slowly towards Fitz, the wrapped brown paper crinkling in her grip.

“Stop! Miss Simmons, Stop.” Garrett placed himself between her and the younger man, looking her dead in the eyes. Fishing out the Jade Monkey, he dangled it in front of her. The small green bauble glinted in the fluorescent lighting, swaying back and forth, and she blinked again, her eyes losing what little focus they had briefly regained. “The Jade Monkey requires your assistance,” he said in soothing tones. “Remember that you cannot stand this man, and now he is getting in the way of your task. You know what to do.”

Garrett stepped back as soon as she handed him the package of jewels. Inelegant, yes, but desperate times and all that. He was too close. Miss Simmons turned her unblinking gaze on Fitz, then took the gun from her pocket. She raised the muzzle to his chest as the rain streamed down from the roof just outside.  

“Simmons, what are you doing?” He held his hands up and nearly knocked over another stack of crates backing away. Garrett chuckled as Fitz gulped, backed into a corner. “She’d never pull that trigger.” His eyes darted around the garage, searching for a way out.

“Don’t be so sure of yourself, Mr. Fitz. She’s under my complete command.” Garrett sidled up and stood behind Jemma, placing his hands on her shoulders in an almost fatherly gesture. “I just need say the word, and _Bang_! No more Leo Fitz.”

“You’ll never get away with this!” Fitz tried to lurch to the side, but Jemma moved the gun to follow, halting him in his tracks.

“Get away with it? But don’t you see? I couldn’t have orchestrated a better getaway if I’d tried,” Garrett nearly sang with glee. “No one knows I was involved except for you and Miss Simmons, and I can easily remove you both from the equation.” Fitz looked uncertain at that, but remained silent as Garrett continued, on a bit of a roll. “Think of the headlines tomorrow: String of Jewel Heists Ends with Disgraced Lovers’ Quarrel!”

Fitz gaped. “A _lover’s_ quarrel?” He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Good luck selling _that_ kettle of fish. You said it yourself, she _hates_ me, and everyone knows it.” Fitz laughed hollowly. “A lover’s quarrel! Of all the ridiculous-”

Simmons moved her thumb, releasing the safety, and took aim at Fitz right between his shoulder blades. He gulped, losing his entire train of thought.

“There’s a very blurred line between love and hate, I’ve found,” Garrett grinned. “Miss Simmons, what are your honest thoughts on the matter?”

Her face fitted itself into an expression of such impassioned awe, that it was odd, considering the gun she had still trained on him. “I think you’re the bravest, most brilliant, most handsome man I’ve ever met and I would to go to the ends of the earth with you!”

“Ah. Well that’s just poetry,” Fitz remarked nervously. “Everybody should have somebody they feel that way about, don’t you think?” Fitz shifted his weight between his feet. “But you’re in love with Daniels, not me. This is just a twisted scheme from a dirty old crook filling your head with lies.”

“No. It’s you that I love, Fitz.” She cocked her head to the side, and her smile faded. “But I also find you ridiculous and pigheaded and infuriating. You would never offer me the life I want, yet you show up and immediately throw off everything I’ve worked so hard to set in motion. You, Leo Fitz, are impossible.” She blinked. Once. “And now the Jade Monkey says you must pay.” She lifted the gun.

“Wait! Wait!” Fitz cried, shielding his head with his hands. “Jemma, I know you’re in there! For once in your life, listen to what your gut is telling you. Don’t listen to his words! You can’t actually want me _dead_!”

“Enough!” Garrett snapped. “Shoot him now!”

“Jemma!”

Two loud bangs echoed throughout the warehouse, and a white-hot pain tore through Fitz’s flesh. He fell backwards, clutching his arm in shock as the sight of Jemma Simmons and her smoking gun dropped from his line of sight. He hit the ground.

* * *

Rain blew around them and lightning ripped through the sky, causing the lights in the warehouse to flick and stutter. Fitz brought his hand up to his face, and caught sight of his own glistening blood on his fingers, just before the lights extinguished for good.

He felt faint. But he was alive. She’d only shot him in the arm. She must not want him dead after all. He looked back up from his position on the floor, and as soon as Garrett realized what had happened, he growled and grabbed the gun off of Simmons, taking aim at her too. Fitz held his breath, not enough time to rush between the gun and the girl. But then, all at once, a noise made them all turn.

“Freeze right there!” shouted a voice from the back of the warehouse. In his daze, Fitz thought it sounded an awful lot like Inspector Coulson.

Fitz looked up at Garrett standing over him with a smoking gun and a package full of stolen jewels. Now, if ever, was the time for his luck to show up for the party.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the infamous John Garrett.” Inspector Coulson whistled, moseying over from the crate he’d been leaning against in the shadows. “I should have known it was you this whole time.”

“Coulson.” Garrett spat, backing away. He kept the smarmy grin on his face, but even Fitz could see it coming apart at the seams.

“Fitz, you alright down there?”

He could only manage a shaky “Mmhmm,” which seemed to satisfy Coulson.

“I gotta say, you’ve cooked up some pretty exotic schemes in the past, John, but this one sure takes the cake.” Coulson gestured around the warehouse. “You actually go out and learn hypnosis this time?”

“I may have picked up a few things.” Garrett still had the gun pointed, but he didn’t seem to know who to aim it at anymore. He’d try to buy time next, if Fitz’s experiences taught him anything. “You curious to hear how I did it?” There it was.

“Not particularly,” Coulson shrugged. “I  know you well enough by now to piece together the important bits of the plot. I’m guessing you used your stint as a magician to scope out your audience for ‘volunteers’. FitzSimmons were the perfect patsies with their clients, their clearance and their complete mistrust of each other. All you really needed after was a phone.”

Fitz felt like he should stand up for himself and Jemma, but he knew he didn't have the strength, or the legs to stand on. They _had_ been fairly perfect targets.

“Took you long enough though, Inspector,” Garrett chuckled smoothly, determined to at least sound like he still had the high ground. “Usually you’re right on my tail. You’re getting old.”

“I admit, this one took more effort than the last. You must make a more believable hypnotist than a mind-reader. Or you were just more desperate.”

“You think I’m desperate?”

“I think you framed two good kids to do your dirty work for you,” Coulson said simply. “Besides, scratch the surface of any criminal and you’ll find the same thing.” He smirked. “Desperation. Greed, power, riches. Doesn't much matter. You’re all desperate.”

“After all this time, Phil, you’re going to boil me down to the likes of a common criminal? We both know I’m far more sophisticated than all that. You remember my last job, don't you?”

“I do. Ian Quinn remembers too. He’s still doing time for falling for your mind-reading scheme. ”

Garrett chuckled almost fondly. “The man was a crook anyways, he deserved what he got.”

“Maybe so. But these two?”

“These two had it coming,” Garrett snarled. “The whole thing wouldn't have worked if they didn't have it in them in the first place.”

Coulson looked down at Fitz and shrugged half-heartedly. “You’ve got me there. Only they didn't have the intent. You decided all that for them. That’s bound to get you up on at least one or two charges, don't you think?”

“Only if you can prove it.” Garret scowled darkly and glanced around the warehouse. He appeared to have settled on a plan of action, and the inspector knew it too. “Now enough chit chat, Coulson. Let’s not do the old song and dance again, we’re well beyond that at this point.” He started to slowly shift his feet, like a cat on the hunt, lowering his gun as he moved. Coulson kept his eyes trained on him, not missing an inch as Garrett crept to the side with his smug face. “Nothing you threw at me before could ever stick, so what would be different this time? See, that's your problem, Coulson. You were always too much of a goody-goody.”

“And you were always too much of an ass hole,” Coulson hissed. “But you have a point. All I’ve got you on now is for attempting to detain a known fugitive.” He looked down at Fitz with a defeated shrug of his shoulder. “I may as well let you go, save us both the hassle and the paperwork.”

Garrett looked at Coulson sideways. Not sure if this was his free pass or a trick. “You gonna sick your goons on me as soon as my back is turned?”

“Wouldn't dream of it. Too much of a goody-goody,” Coulson smiled wryly, holding his hands up innocently. “It’s like you said, pretty hard to pin anything on you for this. Besides, I’m getting far too old to chase you down,” Coulson laughed darkly.

With a nervous smirk, Garrett started backing away. He grabbed Simmons’ arm for good measure and held her like a shield, pressing the gun to her temple, daring Coulson or Fitz to come for him. With a last look around the corner, he lifted his hands into fists around the barrell of the gun and drove them into the back of Jemma’s head, pushing her down to Fitz before he dropped everything and ran for it.

Fitz leapt from the ground and caught Jemma less than gracefully. His arm was rather in pain where she’d shot him, after all. Her eyes shut tight, and he reached out a hand to make sure she still had a pulse. She did, and he exhaled with relief.

Garrett ran for it all right. He ran straight into Constable May who was waiting in the shadows for him, illuminated by a flash of lightning. The ensuing fisticuffs were quick and one-sided. Garrett never stood a chance.

When it was all over, Coulson marched over to where May held Garret in submission. “Now, assaulting a police officer and attempted murder?” He grinned. “I’m sure I can get at least _one_ of those to stick.”

* * *

Jemma’s eyes fluttered open in the warehouse light that had returned with a sudden pop. Her eyes focused and she smiled cheerfully up at him. “Fitz?”

He breathed a sigh of relief, brushing her damp hair off her forehead.

“Jemma, are you okay?”

“Yes,” she said, still bewildered and uncharacteristically cheerful.

“Right. We’ll have to get you to Trip to undo all this, I suppose.” Fitz sighed, helping her to her feet. “But that can wait for morning. It's been a long day. A long week, really.”

She didn't respond. Fitz nodded to himself and guided her gently to follow him. They walked side by side in silence through the rain as more police showed up out back to help put a lid on the Jade Monkey case. Stopping just behind her car, Fitz turned to face her.

“It’s such a shame that you’re going to have to actually wake up from this illusion,” he said. “Master-mind’s puppet aside, there’s something pretty nice about being in that unburdened state, isn't there?”

She merely blinked in response. Fitz slumped his shoulders, then fliched as pain shot through his deftly patched up arm at the movement. He winced. It was definitely much too strange having her so agreeable to the things he said. He opened his mouth to take it back, but then she smiled up at him with a look on her face as if she’d been interrupted in the middle of a nice, believable dream. Perhaps that's what did it, that look on her face.

Fitz knew all at once that he didn't care about anything other than spending as much time as he could bickering with her. He didn't care if he never got back to his safe routine and he didn't even much care if his files got put into his old system, though he would never admit that to her. He didn't want Raina or Daisy or anyone else for that matter, so long as Jemma Simmons lived and breathed. He wanted her with everything he had. And with everything he didn't have. He wanted a future. With her. He could do the small cottage and the white picket fence and the youngsters and everything else you were _supposed_ to do if that's really the life she wanted. If she came as part of the deal, he wanted it all too.

He let out a long, heavy sigh as the rain fell down against them. “Just – just once before the ugly curtain of reality drops on both of us…”

Knowing he shouldn’t, but unable to stop himself, Fitz leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. As he suspected she would, she leaned in to him too, but he was still nervous, tentative. She brought her hands to his face and without hesitation, she pulled him closer. He gave in. Their lips brushed against each other in an increasingly heated dance, tasting of salt and rain water, and she clung to him. Soft, happy moans escaped their lips as one or the other would quickly gasp for air then pull the other greedily back in for more. It was a heady escape for the tension that had been building between them that he knew he would not get another chance to release.

He also knew it couldn't last. She didn't come as part of the deal.  Not for him, anyway. He’d tried so hard not to get hurt, and here he was keying himself up nicely for the hurt of his lifetime. Fitz finally pulled away, reluctantly. What he wanted most of all was for her to be happy, and if she wanted Will Daniels, then he wouldn’t stand in her way. It was time. Reality was waiting for both of them with its rough edges and grimy truths, and as much as he wanted to stay stuck in the fantasy forever, his arm _really_ hurt.

“C’mon Simmons,” he sighed. “I’ll drop you back home on my way to the hospital.” He turned away from her before he could change his mind and got in the driver side of her car.

* * *

Jemma stood in the glare of the tail lights with rain dripping down her face. The puddle at her feet crept across the steaming pavement, a tendril of water reaching, racing slowly towards him. She brought her fingertips to her lips. She blinked a few times to herself, attempting to clear her mind from the incongruent cheerfulness that had been dictated to her upon waking. She remembered nothing before waking up on the ground in Fitz’s arms, but she did feel far too cheerful. It was not the correct emotion right now. Though she had to admit it, the gut-wrenching indecision that was quickly taking its place was not altogether as unpleasant as she’d feared.

Finally, fitting her mouth back into that inappropriately stupid grin, she stepped through the puddles towards her car where Fitz was waiting to drive her home. Want or need. Reality or fantasy. The proper question was - which was which?


	8. Can't We Be Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
>   

“What a wrap-up!” Trip leaned over Daisy’s desk. “Did you see the look on Daniels’ face when they told him?” The entire office had gathered around that morning, and very little work was getting done. As soon as the news got out that the real burglar had been caught, everyone was keen to get as much gossip in as possible. It was definitely one of the most interesting cases to come across the desks of Distant Star Casualty and Fidelity of New York.

“He was as white as a ghost!” Daisy laughed. “Couldn't string a coherent sentence together.”

“In the poor guy’s defense, Coulson milked his nerves,” Mack pointed out. “He could have broke it to him better than just saying they caught the burglar and FitzSimmons had been it.” Everyone shrugged or nodded unenthusiastically. “It had to have been a shock for the man to realize he didn't know what his own employees had been up to behind his back.”

“What do you think of their little romantic announcement, huh? Off to elope? Never even knew they had a thing.”

Daisy rolled her eyes at Billy Koenig. “We all had our suspicions.” She shook her head, not bothering to hide her disapproval. “He had a prenup all drafted up, but after the whirlwind with the Jade Monkey case, I heard him say he couldn’t care less. Tore it up and threw it in his father’s face. He’s like a changed man.”

“Never thought Daniels would actually settle down, that's for sure,” Trip sighed. “That Miss Simmons must be quite the catch.”

“I heard talk of them going to Paris for the wedding!” Daisy nudged him lightly in the arm.

“Paris? Wow!”

Fitz shuffled through the hallway then and everyone quickly hushed. He looked up at them all with such a pained, irritated expression that it took all of Daisy’s strength not rush over and give him the biggest hug.

Instead, Fitz adjusted his tie. He held his chin in the air and marched through the herd of his gossiping co-workers towards the closed door. If he was aware of the murmured chatter that followed in his wake, he refused to show it.

* * *

“Mr Daniels,” Fitz said with a knock on the door, “I just came to say I’m leaving.”

Daniels was sitting at his desk with his head in his hands, and gave a slight jump when Fitz spoke. The man looked worse for the wear, like he hadn't had a fitful night’s rest in days. Fitz could relate.

“Ah, Fitz. What can I say? We all make mistakes, huh?” The tall man stood, buttoning his jacket and sloughing off his exhaustion. He motioned for Fitz to sit. When Fitz waved off the offer, Daniels walked around and leaned against the front of his desk, rubbing at his chin. “Of course, you’ve gotta admit – they did have a pretty strong case against you.”

Fitz shrugged. “The Koenig-Morse company are relentless, and good at what they do in the end. They’ll be a good fit here, sir.”

“Sir!” Daniels laughed at the title. “Look, I know you can get a job anywhere, Fitz. If you really decide to go, you’ll have our blessings. But if you stay, you’ll have a raise, and I’ll see to it Miss Simmons stays out of your way,” he offered. “It's the least I can do after all you’ve done for us. In fact, we’ll both be gone for a couple of weeks as it is, so you can enjoy having the run of the place while we’re gone,” he said. He leaned in, then, a grin spreading across his face. “Miss Simmons and I are going to Paris.”

“Oh yeah, the actual city?”

“Hm? Of course,” Daniels blinked, Fitz’s jab going completely over his head. “And after our wedding, Miss Simmons likely won’t be around much, so you won't have to worry about her getting under foot,” he went on. “Between you and me, she’s quite keen on starting a family, and I find myself rather looking forward to the prospect.”

Fitz gave a hollow nod, gritting his teeth. “Glad to see you’re both getting what you want.”

“Isn't it strange? Never thought I’d be one to settle down like this,” Daniels mused. “Jemma just brings something out in me.”

“Yeah, she’s something else all right.”

“It’s all such a novel concept,” Daniels shook his head. “But people have been doing it for a while I hear; marriage and babies and whatnot. There must be _something_ to it!”

“Wouldn’t know, sir.”

“There’s this Sir again!” Will playfully nudged at Fitz’s good shoulder. “Fitz, whatever you decide, don't be a stranger, okay? You know my door is always open.”

* * *

Jemma hesitated for as long as she could, staring at her office door. She had far more packing to do, and she’d left it all to the last minute, which was very unlike her. But she’d heard Fitz was back in, and she wanted to - No. She didn't need to- Oh, why was she was being silly about this? She wanted to see him before she left, and there was no reason not to seek him out. They had both been part of the whole scheme. If that didn’t earn her the right to at least an attempt at friendship with the man, she didn’t know what did.

The closed door stared back at her, taunting her indecision. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot against the linoleum floor. She was being ridiculous! Finally, hoisting herself into action, she stepped forward and threw open the door, and immediately froze right in her tracks. There he was, waiting on the other side with his hand poised in the air where the doorknob should be.

“Oh.” Jemma smiled warmly. “It’s you.”

“Yeah.” Fitz ducked his head, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Just came to say goodbye, actually.”

“Right, goodbye,” Jemma nodded, keeping the smile at the edges of her mouth. Then, as if remembering, she added, “Yes, Will and I have a plane to catch.” She opened the door wider and motioned for him to come in. Her things were strewn about her office, the most disorganized and chaotic she’d ever allowed it to get. She didn’t particularly mind if he saw, especially if she was leaving soon.

Fitz shut the door gently behind him. “Well that too.” He shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “But by goodbye I mean I’m leaving. I’m quitting.”

She stopped where she was and turned to face him, her smile fading. “Oh.” He kept walking towards her.

“That should make you very happy.” He leaned forward with a smirk, stopping at the other end of her desk. “When you come back, you don’t have to see me again. You can revamp everything here to be the height of efficiency, no complaints from the peanut gallery.”

She nodded along with what he was saying, but realized she should at least smile to be polite when she was met with a rather extended silence where she should have continued the conversation. It wasn't her best attempt at a smile, but it would have to do under the circumstances. They both dropped their gaze down to her desk.

“So,” she said. “Want to have a parting drink?”

“A drink at 10 o’clock in the morning?”

Lifting the bottle she had stowed away in her drawer, Jemma ducked her head. “Well, it’s only scotch.”

“What can I say to a woman who keeps a bottle of Scottish booze in her desk?” Fitz chuckled.

She raised her eyebrow at him fondly, then fished out two small tumblers, pouring them each a finger. “Let’s drink to both of our futures,” she said as pleasantly as she could. Jemma handed him his glass and lifted her own in the air.

“Today, Mr. Daniels. Tomorrow, the world!” Fitz teased.

They clinked their glasses and Jemma gave him a sideways glance. “I’ll let that one pass, because this is goodbye.”

They each took a sip. Jemma felt the smooth liquid burn its way down her throat, and the warm tingling feeling settled in her cheeks. When she opened her eyes again, Fitz was staring at her intently.

“You’re really gonna marry that guy?” he asked. His expression was unreadable and it made her tap nervously at the side of her glass.

She lifted a shoulder, acknowledging the answer to his question without needing to trust her voice just yet.

It was nearly imperceptible, but Fitz definitely wilted. He shook his head dramatically to cover it. “You know, for a brilliant woman, I gotta say, you have the worst taste in men.”

“He’s dependable enough,” she said, knitting her brows together. “He’s a good man, underneath it all.” It wasn't that she was defending Will - she knew all of his good qualities for herself. For her own sake, there was no need to go over her reasoning once more, the logic behind her decision. It just somehow felt as though she owed Fitz an explanation. Which she didn’t. Not really. It was none of his business. She shook her head, then  lifted her chin in the air and shot him a teasingly smug grin. “Besides, I didn’t take up with _you_. How bad could my taste be?”

He smiled and tilted his head at her point. “It’s a shame we could never be proper friends though, yeah? Probably would have got on well enough if we’d met under different circumstances.”

“What makes you say that?”

Fitz shrugged. “Always up for a challenge I suppose. Both of us.”

“That is definitely true. In another life we could have been the best of friends, egging each other on, working together instead of constantly bickering,” she laughed, and he chuckled along with her until silence fell heavily between them again. Jemma looked at her empty glass. “But I guess we’ll never know, will we?”

“No, guess not.” He drained the last of his Scotch. Placing the tumbler back on her desk with a resolute thud, he inhaled sharply, his hand lingering on the glass.

Fitz looked like he was about to turn away, then instead turned his eyes on her. “You know, hiding underneath all those nasty remarks is a very sweet, romantic woman, Simmons.” He felt much closer than he actually was. When his eyes darted down, her breath caught in her throat. “But don’t ever let her come out,” he breathed, the corner of his mouth twisting into a smile. His eyes flicked up to hers again, boring into her, looking almost sad despite the smile that lit up the rest of his face. “Couldn’t run the risk of being happy. I know that would kill you.”

“Will and I plan on being very happy,” she said softly. Fitz took a step back and nodded, and she felt a chill as the space between them grew. She crossed her arms. “You know, your instinct told you he would never settle down, so...”

“Yeah. My instincts are good, but they’re not infallible,” he conceded. “This was one case where I was wrong. I guess that’s good news for you.” He set his mouth in a hard line, and started moving back for the door.

“I am sorry,” she blurted before he could leave. “For shooting you in the arm, I mean. I still don't remember any of it, but I wanted to apologize either way.”

Fitz lifted his bandaged arm and smirked at it as if forgetting it was still there. “Nah, it could have been worse, Simmons. Not your fault though. You didn't know what you were doing.”

She nodded, and they stood facing each other across the room for what was probably only a moment. That small moment was filled with so much that neither of them had the courage to put into words that it could have lasted a lifetime. Still. They didn't speak.

“Well,” he said, finally breaking the spell. “Have a terrific rest of your life, Simmons. Try not to fall out of any windows.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “And do make sure the elevator’s there when you’re free to get in,” she pointed with a smile, “because I heard of a man who plunged fifteen stories, broke every bone in his body and wound up a vegetable.”

Fitz laughed. “I’ll let that pass because this is goodbye.”

Before she could say anything else, he shot her a last grin over his shoulder, and then he was gone.

Jemma let out a long, slow, steady breath to centre herself. She counted to ten, then she turned back to her desk and lifted her bag to continue packing. A brochure she had come across the other day fell out, and she frowned at it.

* * *

The small cardboard box was, surprisingly, the perfect size for all his things. For a place he’d thought of as his second home for so many years, it was strange to realize that all trace evidence of his presence could fit so neatly between the four small corners. At least it was light enough for his sore arm. It was lucky he’d donated most of his snack stash to Trip and Mack, or else that would have required a few boxes to itself, and he really didn’t want to drag everything on. He hated goodbyes.

Fitz allowed himself a quick look back for nostalgia’s sake, then lifted his chin and marched through his office door. It was tough, sure, but with all the publicity the case got, he already had a few offers waiting in the wings. He hadn't decided what to do yet, though. He may even take a stab at going solo. There was no rush. His severance pay should last him long enough. But one thing was for sure: it was time to move on.  There were just too many memories at Distant Star, and the more vivid ones were growing too painful to be reminded of every day.

When he got to the main area of the office, a few people had gathered to wish him well. Most of the staff, at least. Fitz couldn't help but grin as everyone around him stood and applauded, some raising their coffee cups in an office-place salute of sorts. He’d finally got his moment.

“Hey Fitz, I was just telling them that if you quit, I go with you,” Mack said, scuffing him in the good arm.

“That’s right!” Daisy agreed. “Fitz, you're our hero! This was a tough nut to crack!”

“Please!” Fitz grinned. “This was all luck. I mean, if Trip didn’t know magic or hypnosis, I’d still be out nabbing rubies and diamonds for that head case. Simmons too.”

“It was a dastardly plot, that’s for sure,” Trip shook his head.

“I’m just glad the guy’s behind bars now,” Daisy shivered. “How terrifying to think someone was running around out there that could actually put anyone under, and then force them to do the most outrageous things.”

Fitz scoffed. “You’re telling me!”

“You’re both wrong, actually!” Trip chimed in. “You see, a person will never do anything under hypnosis that they wouldn’t do in real life,” he explained.

“So what are you saying?” Fitz smirked. “That I’m at heart a thief?”

“Well... we all know there’s a little bit of larceny in you.” Trip laughed. “I mean you’re the one who’s always saying it takes one to catch one.”

The room guffawed and jostled Fitz, brushing up against his sore arm.

“That must mean there’s also a little bit of larceny in Miss Simmons,” Mack pointed out. “I don't think any of us saw that coming.”

“There’s a lot of surprises in her, it turns out.” Fitz rubbed at his arm. “I’m just glad she didn't hate me enough to actually become a murderer.”

Slowly, the crowd began to disperse back to doing actual work before the morning slipped away. Fitz adjusted his box, remembering all the reasons he’d loved it here, now that it was the eleventh hour.

“Hey, come here,” Daisy whispered over Fitz’s shoulder. She grabbed his box from him and set it down at her desk, motioning him to follow. “So. What are you gonna do?”

“Oh I dunno, a few places have been in touch, but I was thinking maybe I’d-”

“Not about work, dummy.” Daisy rolled her eyes. “About Simmons. You have a crush on her, don’t you?”

Fitz gaped, then made a show of floundering. “Who, Simmons? Me? No idea what you’re talking about!”

“Oh come on, Fitz! I’ve always known it. Practically the whole office has bets going. You can’t hate somebody _that much_ without there being at least a little bit of attraction underneath it all.”   

“Says who?”

“Call it my instinct,” she grinned. “Against all odds? I mean Fitz, you’re the one who taught me to trust it. And besides, you two were all over each other when you were both all monkey-fied,” Daisy said, raising her eyebrow at him.

He shrugged, then looked down defeated. “I think I’m in love with her.” Daisy squealed, and he quickly tried to shush her. “But it’s the stupidest thing that’s ever happened to me! It’s embarrassing. On top of everything else, she’s practically already married to the man of her dreams!”

“Yeah, well, not yet she’s not,” Daisy put her hands on her hips. “You better take the bull by the horns, Fitz. At least to say you’ve tried. She’s out of here in about three minutes. Look.”

Daniels had wandered over to Jemma’s office and was doing his best to collect their bags as she ran around hemming and hawing over the last of her things to pack.

“Go!” Daisy pushed Fitz in her direction, and he found it was all the push he needed.

* * *

Suddenly Fitz was standing in the threshold of her door, and she was there, and he knew he only had one thing left to say to her.

“Miss Simmons. Jemma.” Fitz cleared his throat. “Marry me?”

Both she and Daniels turned slowly to face him, in equal amounts of shock. “Excuse me?”

“I’m in love with you,” he said simply. “We should get married.” He knew how foolish he sounded, and realized he didn’t particularly care anymore.

Daniels looked from Fitz to Jemma’s bewildered expression, and chose to deflate the tension with a hearty laugh. “I guess Fitz has already had a few to celebrate!” He scuffed him in the arm jovially - the good arm. “A little early for that, don’t you think, buddy?”

“I’ve had a little scotch,” Fitz waved off, “but otherwise I wouldn’t have the nerve to say this. Look, Jemma, I’ve been in love with you from the moment you walked in here all snooty and perfect, and it took me too long to say so, but I’m saying it now before it's _really_ too late. What do you think?”

Jemma looked very put on the spot, and blinked a few times as she let her mind catch up with the rest of her senses. Then she fitted her mouth into a frown. “Fitz, please,” she glanced at Will. “Don't you think you’re being a bit ridiculous?”

“Of course it’s ridiculous!” Fitz threw his hands in the air. “But it would be more ridiculous for you to spend the rest of your life with the wrong person when it’s me you really love!”

At that, Will stepped forward, puffing out his chest. “Fitz, you’re making her uncomfortable. Why don’t you-”

But Jemma stepped between the two men then, and rounded on Fitz herself. She had finally got her sea legs back, so to speak, and her voice was high and pitchy. “Whatever could make you think I would _ever_ , in my wildest dreams think of you that way? You-”

“Yeah, I know,” Fitz grinned, “you pasty little cockroach or something like that,” he offered. “But can’t you see the _venom_ under that? That’s the whole point!”

“Jemma, let’s go,” Will sniffed. “Fitz, leave here at once. We have a plane to catch and an elopement to be had.” Will turned and started gathering their bags. “Darling, where did you put the brochure for that lovely French circus you were just talking about?”

Jemma’s hands began to worry themselves at her sleeves, but she didn’t move away when Fitz moved closer to her. “Look, I’m opening up to you! I’m putting my heart in your hands,” he said, grabbing hold of her hands to punctuate his point.

“You can’t literally put you heart in someone else’s-”

He rolled his eyes at her. “I‘ve been difficult because I feared you, just like you feared me. Because underneath all this bickering we know this is the real thing and it terrifies us.”

“Yes. I fear you,” Jemma huffed, taking her hands back and fixing him with a proper glare. “You and the Boogey Man.”

“Out of the way Fitz.” Will turned back around and placed himself like a wedge right between the two of them. “Your heroics with the case do not entitle you to be an obnoxious bore.”

Jemma turned back to her bag. Fitz stepped away and held out his arms innocently. “How can a man confessing love be an obnoxious bore?”

“I’m afraid Jemma and I have big plans, Fitz,” Will said, clutching the edges of his jacket and rocking back on his heels like the winner of the fattest ham. “Those plans certainly don’t include you,” he concluded with an air of finality. “Now Jemma, where is that brochure you asked me to look at? It all sounded very important to you before we were so rudely interrupted.”

Fitz stepped neatly around Daniels and addressed Jemma again. “Look at me. Please,” he begged, and she pointedly turned her chin up to look at him. But when their eyes met, some of the irritation slipped away and she bit her lip. “Jemma. Do you _want_ to spend the rest of your life married to the wrong guy?”

She chewed at her lower lip, taking just a moment too long to shoot back her response. “What makes you think I would marry you, even if I wasn’t going to marry him?”

Daniels poked his head up from the pile of papers he was sifting through. “Hey! Stop talking about me like I’m not here!”

“Because you love me too!” Fitz proclaimed.

“Love you?” Jemma guffawed. “But you’re too young for me! You’re too stubborn for me. You’re too... too short for me.”

“You’re leaving out the best part,” he grinned, stepping closer. “I’m also unemployed!”

He reached out his hands and she watched them apprehensively, not moving away. But Daniels marched towards them, standing between them again before their hands could touch.

“Alright, Fitz, goodbye!” Will started to herd the other man towards the exit. “And I mean for good this time.”

Fitz sighed and attempted to linger, but when Jemma refused to meet his gaze again, he deflated. That was it. He’d given it a last shot. Finally, he turned away, the picture of dejection. What else could he do? He’d tried, but apparently Jemma refused to listen to anything but reason.

“Someone call the plane and tell them we might be late,” Will poked his head out as Fitz dragged his feet slowly towards the door. “Ah, darling, here’s that brochure!” Will said brightly behind him. “That circus with all those little monkeys is it? Cirque du Marmoset?”

Fitz froze and whirled back around at that word. He met Jemma’s eyes first, and for a heartbeat they went wide like she’d been caught. Then, as though he’d imagined it, they lost their focus and a sleepy smile drifted across her face. She turned her whole body away from Daniels.

“You go ahead Will,” she said dreamily. “I’m staying right here.”

“What?” Fitz and Will deadpanned at the same time. They glanced at each other briefly, and sniffed, irritated to have said the same thing at the same time. Then they turned back to look at Jemma with concern.

“I’m staying with Fitz,” she said, happily walking over and lacing her fingers with his. “And I believe we have an announcement to make.”

“Jemma?” Fitz said, his jaw dropping.

“Darling, you have a crazy look in your eye!” Daniels gawked at her like she was a confusing science experiment.

Jemma grinned bashfully as Daniels waved a hand in front of her face. “I’ve never felt so normal in my life!”

“You daft idiot,” Fitz hissed. “Now you’ve done it! You said her trigger word!”

“What did I say?” Will floundered. “I just told her I'd found the brochure she wanted me to look at!”

“Well get it back, what was it?” Fitz ordered. He looked at Jemma and waved in her face himself. “Jemma, focus. When I snap my fingers, you will come out of your trance and you will go back to normal, remembering everything clearly and pursuing only the things you really want in life. You understand?”

“Yes,” she said with a bright smile.

“Alright, three, two,” Fitz snapped in his fingers. “What do you think of me now?”

“I think I fell in love with you the first second I laid eyes on you.” Jemma beamed up at him, if anything more glossy-eyed than before.

Fitz frowned and looked at his fingers. He shook them out a few times then tried again.

 _Snap!_ “You’re the most wonderful man in the world, Fitz.” _Snap!_ “I think you’re the handsomest, the most brilliant, sexiest…”

“I want this woman helped!” Will shouted out into the hallway.

“William, please don’t be upset that it didn't work out between us,” Jemma grinned fondly. “I just need a man who can challenge me on an intellectual level. You understand.”

Daniels looked at Jemma, confused and well past his limit, then he flew through the door. “Daisy! Call the airline and have them cancel our tickets! I see trouble on the horizon!”

“Pull yourself together man!” Fitz called after him, but he was already gone.

“Leave him,” Jemma murmured, sashaying closer to Fitz. “It was over between us long ago.”

“Jemma, no!” He backed away. “This isn't you speaking, it’s the Jade Monkey trick! Daniels is handsome and stable and can give you a good life and-”

“And he’s not very bright,” Jemma pointed out with a wrinkle of her nose. “It’s you that I’ve always wanted, Fitz. It's just like you said. It took me too long to admit it to myself.”

She reached towards him, and Fitz backed through the door, not willing to trust himself if she actually got her hands on him this time. “Trip!!” He shouted. “Trip, I need your help!” He looked around as the other staff popped their heads up at the commotion. “Where’s Trip??” Fitz asked the room at large, desperately.

“Just in the can,” Mack said. “Why, Fitz? Everything okay?”

Fitz opened his mouth but Jemma slipped in from behind him and placed a firm kiss on his mouth. Fitz held his hands in the air, angling his body away despite their connected lips. He refused to give in, but he had very little control over his face from this angle.

“Everything’s wonderful,” Jemma said brightly when she removed herself from him. She turned to face their gathering audience. “Everyone, Fitz and I are madly in love. He proposed and I’ve accepted! We’re getting married!”

The cheers and applause were deafening. A chorus of “About time” and “Finally” could be heard between the whistles and exchange of money as Jemma brought Fitz in for another smooch.

When Fitz managed to untangle himself from the girl of his dreams, he held her back. “No, no, no,” he cried hoping someone would hear him over the commotion. “It’s not real! Someone get Trip!”

Trip had wandered out and perked up at the sound of his name. “Hey, what’d I miss? Are you two getting hitched?”

“Yes!”     “No!” Jemma and Fitz both replied at the same time.

“Well that’s just confusing,” Trip shook his head and hushed the crowd. “Alright, let's see if we can’t sort this out.” Everyone leaned in, intently. “Fitz, did you propose?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“And she accepted?”

“Sure, I guess, but-”

“And you both love each other?”

“I’d like to think so, but you don’t understand!”

“What else is there to understand, Fitz? Congratulations, man!”

Everyone cheered again and smushed closer to offer their rather enthusiastic congratulations now that it was sorted out again, drowning out Fitz’s protests, not even attempting to listen to what he was trying to say.

“Daisy! Please!” He called out. “She’s not in her right mind! It's not me she really wants!”

“Oh he’s just shy,” Jemma giggled, winking at Daisy.

“So much passion in a lousy insurance office!” Daisy laughed as she waved them along, ushering them both towards the front entrance. “Good luck you two!”

Jemma was beaming and Fitz looked like a deer caught in the headlights as they finally closed the door behind them.

One of the Koenigs stood with Trip, Daisy and Mack and shook his head happily with them. “Hey, what a break for Fitz that in all the commotion you forgot to de-program Miss Simmons, huh?”

“What are you talking about?” Trip chuckled. “I didn’t forget anything. I deprogrammed her last night.”

They all peered through the window then to where Fitz was nervously helping Simmons into her coat.

“We’ll get you home and get you a nice nap,” he muttered. “Then I’ll hunt down Daniels for you. Can't have you throwing your whole life away over something this ridiculous.”

“That's very sweet darling,” Jemma said dreamily. “But I don't think he would want to come to the wedding.” She continued to grin even as Fitz got more and more flustered. “I want to be married as soon as possible,” she said. “We could just run down to city hall if you don't mind it not being fancy. Though it would be nice if my parents could be there. My Dad will really like you, I think, Fitz. He’s usually quite a tough nut to crack, but he’ll see what I see right away. You’ve always been the man for me, Fitz. I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”

“Jemma, please, stop.” He looked down. “It’s lovely that you want all that now, but-” Fitz sighed. “If only you could feel those things for real.”

Jemma cupped his cheek in her hand and tilted his chin up so he was looking at her. “Anything’s possible, Fitz.” Jemma smiled brightly. “After all, you feel that way about me and no one even needed to say Capuchin!”  

She grinned and finished buttoning her coat as she waited for Fitz’s gobsmacked expression to settle.

He blinked. He looked up at her, disbelieving. He walked away a few steps and peered into the office where the whole staff was watching through the window. They all had giant grins on their faces and waved, giving him the thumbs up. He nervously returned it, then turned back to her. She shrugged, wrinkling her nose, and at last he knew for sure. Fitz shook his head and walked back over, smoothing out his tie.

“Right,” he said. “So… should we get out of here and find some place where we can go start making up for lost time?”

She tucked her arm in his. “How about my place?”

“I think I can live with that.” He grinned, gesturing for her to lead the way. “Shall we?”


End file.
